The Apprentice Audition
by Platinum Express
Summary: Hermione is willing to learn. And Severus is determined to teach her.
1. Mishapen Cauldron

CHAPTER 1

The room was small, much smaller than she had imagined, and papered in a revolting shade of biscuit. The floor was unglamorously linoleum, and it was devoid of any furnishings save for a rickety table, with an iron cauldron and a set of ingredients. The door that led to the room was made of some rusted metal, with nails driven across it, and a large placard on both sides that read: No. 27.

'You,' said the blonde invigilator, who had led her to the room. 'You're No. 27. Get in- this is your room.'

Hermione swallowed nervously, as she surveyed the interior of the room.

'This is it?' she asked.

'This is it exactly,' clarified the invigilator. 'You will find an envelope inside, with instructions as to which potion you're expected to brew. The envelope will open exactly at 9 O Clock. Do not try to open it before hand. This will be counted as cheating, and your score for the duration of the examination will be nullified. Furthermore, you will be considered inapplicable for any Ministry-Approved post in the Academia.'

Her voice sounded metallic and rehearsed, like she said them to every person who entered every room in this corridor in the same way, with the same intonation. Which she probably did, reasoned Hermione. Nonetheless, she felt a little offended.

'I won't cheat,' she said, with what she assumed was quiet dignity. The invigilator did not

notice. She gestured into the room.

'In you go, then,' she said, 'Like I said, the envelope opens at 9 O Clock. I will be coming to collect your sample of the potion within two hours. Understood?'

Again, Hermione felt that inexplicable frisson of anger. She took a deep breath. Exam nerves, she told herself, and suddenly wished that she had squeezed in one more smoke during the walk from the Underground to the Ministry Gateway. She wondered if her hands would start shaking during the exam.

The invigilator was already leaving the room, shutting the door with a crisp, coppery bang behind her. Hermione sighed, and looked around the room for a chair. When she couldn't find out, she leaned against the wall and glanced at her watch. Five minutes to nine.

'Breathe deeply,' she told herself, sternly. 'You're going to do just fine. You've revised everything to perfection. You _will_ be selected!'

She said this to herself once more, just to re-enforce the idea. Rummaging through her pockets, she found the small badge that had been spit out of the telephone booth slot when she entered the Ministry.

_Hermione Granger_

_Applicant for Apprentice Audition_

Even now, that she sitting- well, leaning against the wall of the room where she was going to give the exam, she felt a little flash of excitement as she saw those two words. Apprentice Audition. What an honor. For how long had she worked towards this? She thought of endless nights she had spent after graduating, holed up in the small room of her tiny apartment poring over books and sheaves of parchment. All that, she knew, would end here, the moment she opened that envelope and saw what potion it was she was supposed to brew within two hours.

Qualifying to this level itself was commendable, she knew. In fact, she had been terribly proud of it until she had reached the Ministry this morning, and seen a long line of applicants with badges similar to hers. She had counted off the numbers, and it went somewhere up to three hundred and twenty. Three hundred and twenty odd applicants, she reminded herself, of which only ten would get selected as Apprentices.

A series of sharp, stacatto beeps sounded, yanking her from that train of thought. Hermione frowned, and then glanced at her watch.

It was time.

Her gaze swung around to the small envelope on the table, beside her cauldron. The glossy seal had split into half, and its flap wavered temptingly towards her. Making a noise somewhere in between a gasp and a choke, Hermione flung herself across the room, and opened the envelope, slipping out the small piece of paper inside it.

One sentence was written in a neat, precise handwriting.

_You are required to brew a Memory Obscuring Potion within the designated time limit._

Wave over wave of relief passed over Hermione's tension-wracked body as she read the line. She knew this! A Memory Obscuring Potion- her mind ran through the words that she had read about it one night in one of her books, and then over the list of ingredients, and the amounts. She glanced at the tray of ingredients kept beside her. It was well organized. A small knife, grater and ladle sat beside it.

Immediately, Hermione fell to work. She chopped her lacewings, and finely diced her Flobberworms, added them at just the right time, and stirred them with just the right movement. Her fingers flew over the tray of ingredients, cutting, grating and then sliding it into the cauldron, occasionally picking up the ladle, stirring it and then dropping it frantically down again. The potion turned from a mild brownish color to a vicious shade of red, and then slowly dulled to a more sober burnished amber. Hermione nodded approvingly, and then uncorked a small vial of phoenix tears, and let three drops fall into the potion.

Immediately, it transformed to a more vibrant shade of amber, as though the cauldron had suddenly been filled with the substance itself. Dull, golden lights were flung out from the mixture in the potion, and decorated the walls and the ceiling with a dazzling array of specks. Hermione surveyed her cauldon complacently, and was about to re-cork the phoenix tear vial, when she stopped.

Instinctively, her mind raced back to the night she had spent poring over page after page dedicated to potions intended to obscure memories. She remembered somewhat shaky comparisons that had been drawn between the healing properties of phoenix tears, and their ability to induce amnesia. The chapter had been nicely summed up by a small quote- "After all, what is forgetting if not healing of the mind?"

'What, indeed?' murmured Hermione.

An idea was beginning to form in her head- an idea that was making her distinctly uneasy and undeniably excited both at the same time. Her fingers, clasped around the vial, felt tight and uncomfortable. Her mind felt faintly feverish.

What would happen, she wondered if she were to add more of the phoenix tears? It wasn't reccomended in any books that she had read so far- but what if she did? She had heard enough cases of people drinking a Memory Obscuring Potion, and not having their memories obscured entirely. If she were to add more of the tears, wouldn't that ensure that their minds were completely wiped blank? At the same time, phoenix tears were known for their _healing _properties. Adding more of them couldn't possibly harm the ingestor of the potion.

Quickly, she made up her mind.

Gritting her teeth together, Hermione Granger made what was possibly the most important and startling desicions of her life. Despite the fact that no book had told her to do so, she uncorked the vial of phoenix tears once more, and added four more drops. Then another for good measure.

The cauldron hissed slightly. Hermione leaned forward over it, wondering if perhaps it would turn an even darker shade of amber. She watched the liquid inside the cauldron roil and bubble against itself, heard a soft hiss.

Then, there was a splintering noise, like paper tearing, followed by a loud bang, and Hermione found herself covered from head to toe in thick, dark red gloop.

* * *

'Ouch,' said Ron, sympathetically. Hermione had joined him and Harry for drinks at a pub near her apartment, and told them all about her Audition. 'That sounds pretty horrible.'

Hermione nodded miserably, and then slumped down against the surface of the table they were sitting at. Too late she remembered the whiskey rings that adorned its surface, and heaved back to an upright position. Her hand shot to her forehead, and she felt a slight dampness there.

'Oh, great,' she said, dejectedly. 'Now I have whiskey on my head.'

'There's some in your hair too,' Harry said, kindly. 'I would attempt to charm it off, but given that I'm not entirely sober right now...'

'Don't,' said Hermione, with a shudder. 'I'd rather keep my head on, thank you very much.' She reached out, and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that they had been sharing all evening. She took a long swig, and then sighed, and leaned back in her chair.

'Hermione, relax,' Ron said, soothingly. The effect was ruined by the fact that he was shamelessly slurring his words. 'There's still a chance you may get selected.'

'Ron,' she said, patiently, faintly aware that she too was slurring, 'My cauldron exploded. I did a complete Neville in there. At my Apprentice Audition! They deduct marks for things like adding an extra lacewing, or stirring in the wrong direction!'

'What did the invigilator say?' asked Harry, leaning forward to grab the bottle as Ron tutted morosely.

'Well, she didn't see the mess till she came to collect my sample,' Hermione said, with a sigh. 'I tried to clean some of it off the walls and the ceiling, but I was covered in the stuff, and besides, it was all the wrong color. She gave me the _bitchiest_ look ever. And the worst part was, all I could think of was sneaking off and smoking a cigarette!'

She glanced gratefully down at the cigarette clutched firmly between her fingers, and took a long drag to emphasize her point.

Harry sighed dramatically, and then leaned over the table and took her other hand between his. He pressed her fingers firmly, and said, 'Don't worry, Herms. Something better will come up.'

'Will it?' demanded Hermione, dangerously. '_Will_ it?'

'Of course it will! This- this Apprentice Audition isn't the beginning and end of the world!'

'It's the beginning and end of _my _world.' Hermione said, with a little shiver. She pressed a hand against her own cheek, and noticed that she was drunk enough that it was almost completely numb. 'I've been thinking of nothing else for so long now. I worked so hard for it. I can't believe I screwed it up like that.'

There was a brief silence. All three of them looked melancholy. Ron sighed deeply, and then perked up a bit.

'I know what you need!' he said, sitting bolt upright, face beaming.

Hermione looked puzzled. 'You do? What?'

'You need to get drunk!' Ron said, with a broad smile. 'That's exactly what I do when I'm not feeling very perky!'

Hermione contemplated this for a moment. 'You know, Ron,' she said, thoughtfully. 'I think I already am drunk.'

Harry snorted. 'Ah, this is nothing.' he said, dismissively. 'Child's play, is what I call it. Hang on.' He glanced around and caught sight of a blonde waitress in a tight black dress, who was drifting amongst the tables balancing a tray in one hand. 'Hey!' he called out, loudly. A few people seated an neighboring tables turned around, but Hermione was too drunk to be embarassed.

'Hey!' called Harry, again. 'You! Waiter!'

'Waitress!' Hermione hissed.

'Tress, then.' said Harry, with a little wave of his hand. The waitress had caught sight of them, and was apprehensively approaching their table.

'Can I help you, sir?' she asked, tentatively.

Harry flashed her a bright smile, and then nodded vigorously. 'Yes!' he said, bobbing his head up and down. 'Yes! In fact, you can. You see, my friend here-' he pointed towards Hermione with a shaky finger, and she smiled bashfully up at the waitress- 'Just screwed up the most important day of her life. She's feeling a bit down, you know. Besides, she doesn't know this, but Ron and I always keep track of her dates, and it's the fifteenth, you know- _that _time of the month,' he added, with a significant wink. The waitress looked faintly appalled.

'You keep track of my dates?' asked Hermione, with interest.

'Anyway,' continued Harry, who was still talking directly to the waitress. 'We told her that the best way for her to deal with this was to get drunk. Don't you agree?'

'Um,' said the waitress.

'So, could we have a round of tequila shots, please? Actually, make that two.' said Harry, with a little smile. 'And salt and lemon. A little quickly, because she might start crying anytime soon.'

'I will do no such thing.' said Hermione, with dignity. The effect was ruined as she slumped sideways in her chair, and grabbed hold of Ron's arm to keep balance.

'Two rounds of tequila shots, coming right up,' said the waitress, who now simply looked amused. She drifted away, and returned in a few minutes with a tray piled with six glasses and a bowl of salt and chopped lemons.

'Enjoy,' she said, and left.

**Author's Note- So. Just something new I'm trying out. I thought I'd start it on a light note, and then see where it goes. You like? **

**Please, oh please, review. I have this thing for feedback. =)**


	2. Unexpected Letter

CHAPTER 2

Light.

Damn the godforsaken light.

With a little groan, Hermione rolled over in bed, and threw an arm over her eyes, trying to stop the red hot splinters of sunshine from piercing through her face. Her brow felt warm and uncomfortable, her mouth dry, and tongue swollen to atleast twice it's normal size. Her legs, which were splayed out with very little elegance, felt as though a shaft of cement was being driven repeatedly against them. To top everything off, she was gripped in the clutches of the mother of all headaches.

For an instant, even in her sleep-muddled state, she felt a prick of panic. Was she falling ill? Was it the 'flu? That wouldn't explain the pain in her legs though. Maybe she had fallen down some stairs and fainted. Maybe she had been _run over_.

She heared a groan beside her, and stiffened slightly. Now that she came to think of it, her surroundings felt a little unfamiliar. Her bed wasn't this hard! And this wasn't her comfortably soft blanket wrapped around her legs. With a little sigh, she cracked an eyelid open, bracing herself against the blinding hot sunrays.

It took her two seconds to determine that she was in her own dining room. She recognised that cupboard, and that table . However, she seemed to be lying on the floor. Glancing to her left and right, she saw that both Harry and Ron were passed out on either side of her, sleeping with their mouths unattractively open. And- Good Lord!- they appeared to have dragged her grandmother's favorite table cloth of the table, where it rightly belonged, and the soft pink piece of lace was now strewn between the three of them, catching uncomfortably between her calves.

_Grandma Granger must be turning in her grave_, she thought sleepily. _Actually, fuck turning. She must be rolling around like a motor engine. What the fuck happened last night?_

She heard another groan from beside her, and turned her head, ignoring the sharp protest from her neck. Harry seemed to be waking up slowly, shifting slightly under the table cloth. He blinked blearily up at her.

'Where are we?' he croaked.

'In my dining room,' she rasped back. Her throat was in desperate need of water. 'I think we're all in one piece.'

Harry began to take in his surroundings. He frowned at the table cloth. 'What _is_ this thing?'

Hermione sighed. 'Never mind,' she muttered. 'I think I need to get up now.'

'So do I,' said Harry, and added, 'Water!'

They glanced at each other.

'Count of three?' suggested Harry.

'Oh, this is so going to hurt.' Hermione mumbled.

'One. Two. Three!'

He said the last word a little loudly, and as Hermione swung herself up to a sitting position, she felt as though a double blow had been delivered to her head. It reeled; she sucked in some air, and then pressed her palms against her temples. It was only after a few moments that she turned up to look at Harry.

'I think my head is still on,' he muttered. 'But it's still trying to escape. Argh. Do you have aspirin?'

Hermione nodded. She raised her hands to the table, and used her palms to brace herself as she stood up. Taking a moment to test her legs, she felt splinters of pain shooting up her calves.

'My legs hurt.' she whined.

Harry nodded. 'Not too surprising. You were dancing on the table for more than an hour.'

'Oh, that explains- what! Dancing on the table?'

Harry straightened himself up, and the table cloth fell away from his knees. Unheeding, Ron continued to snore.

'Oh, yes,' he said, 'Gave the pub quite a show, I'd say. Don't worry, Ron and I joined you.'

'I can't believe this!'

'Well, you better,' said Harry, glancing around the room for water. 'Don't you keep any bottles around? Oh, chuck it, I'll go to the tap. By the way- if you don't believe me, lift your shirt.'

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times. She seemed to be fishing hopelessly for words, and finally settled on, 'Excuse me?'

'Oh, take your mind out of the gutter, Herms. Just look at the waistband of your jeans.'

He headed off to the kitchen. Checking to see that Ron was still unconscious on the floor, Hermione's fingers dropped to the hem of her light blue tee shirt, and dragged it up a little. As soon as the waistband of her skinnies slid into sight, she groaned, and lifted her other hand to her eyes.

Just above the zipper, someone had scrawled, _'Love ya, bitch! Remember Adam!'_ on her skin with what seemed to be a black felt tip pen.

* * *

'It doesn't come off,' Hermione said, irately, as she spooned scrambled eggs onto three plates. She plucked out some toast from her little oven and stacked them on a platter, which she slammed down on the kitchen table. 'I tried rubbing it with a wet tissue, but it doesn't wipe away!'

An hour had passed since she and Harry had woken, and they had managed, in that time, to wake Ron and drag themselves to the kitchen. Hermione had made about a gallon of coffee, and they were sipping desperately at it. The aspirins had helped a little too, and she had felt up to making some breakfast.

'Maybe it's permanent marker,' Harry suggested. 'But even that stuff comes off after a while.'

'Who is this person anyway?' Ron mumbled. He lifted his coffee cup and buried his nose into it.

'I remember him faintly,' said Harry, frowning. 'Tall bloke. Lots of blonde hair. He signed your stomach when you were dancing on the bar,' he said, addressing this last comment to Hermione.

She groaned, and sat down beside him, raising her hands to her head. 'I danced on the bar?'

'Vigorously. Ron and I backed out after a point, but you went strong for a while.' He flashed her an admiring glance, and then passed Ron his plate of scrambled eggs.

'Ugh,' said Hermione. She hadn't bothered to change out of last night's clothes as yet, and she could feel residual make up clogging her face. Rummaging in the pockets of her jeans, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Inhaling, her shoulders slumped with relief.

'More coffee?' Harry passed her the pot.

'Thanks,' she said, pouring it out. 'I'm going to try and get a little normal, and then take a shower. Hopefully scrub the remains of _Adam-'_ she said the name with distaste- 'off my body.'

'That just sounds wrong.' Harry commented. 'I wonder how exactly we got home last night. I seem to remember tramping down streets at some ungodly hour, because we were too drunk too-'

He broke off as a loud tapping rang through the kitchen. Instantly, all three of them dropped their coffee cups, and clamped their hands over their heads. Hermione wondered vaguely who had shoved a red hot splinter into her brain. She glanced around the kitchen, and saw a tawny owl fluttering outside the window, and casting her reproachful looks.

'Is that your newspaper?' asked Harry, who had cringed and followed her gaze.

She frowned. 'No, I normally pick mine up outside. Hang on, let me check what it wants.'

She crossed the kitchen on still-painful feet, and gently opened her window shutter. It was unnaturally warm outside, the air muggy and hot for September, and the sky brassy and free of clouds. The owl fluttered in, and landed on her kitchen table with a soft thump.

Hermione had never seen the animal before. It was unnaturally handsome, with a faint golden patch on its chest, and a glint to its feathers that reminded her of the color of her potion yesterday. Pushing that thought out of her mind, she undid the letter that was tied to the owl's foot, and gave it a piece of toast, which it nibbled half-heartedly before flying away.

'What is it?' asked Harry, who had been watching. Ron had finished his third cup of coffee, and was pouring his fourth.

'It's from the Ministry.' said Hermione, with a perplexed expression. 'I can't think why they-' she stopped abruptly, and her eyes widened. 'My results! These are my Apprentice Audition results!'

Harry leaned back in his chair, and eyed her encouragingly. 'Go on,' he said, 'Open it.'

She sighed, twisting the corner of the envelope with her index finger and biting her lip. 'I don't see the point, I simply-'

'Open it, Hermione,' Harry said, calmly. 'You never know, do you?'

_Except, in this case I do_, Hermione thought to herself. Nevertheless, she cautiously opened the envelope, and slid out the piece of paper that was folded inside it. Unfolding it, she walked back to the table, and smoothened it out against it's surface.

'Ms. Granger,' she began, reading slowly. She paused for a moment, and then continued. 'Ms. Granger: This is to inform you that you have been- have been selected as one of the ten Apprentices to graduate our course. Kindly present yourself at 10 O' Clock at the Meeting Room of the Floor 12 of the Audition Department, Ministry of Magic, to acquaint yourself with your Master. Sin-sincerely, Geraldine Porke, Department of Auditions.'

Her voice cracked as she finished reading. There was a stunned silence around the table, which was broken by Harry, who stood up and wrapped her in a warm hug.

'There you go!' he said, patting her back affectionately. 'I told you to hope, didn't I?'

'I can't believe this,' Hermione muttered. 'I simply can't believe this.'

'Congrats, Herms,' Ron said. His eyes looked bloodshot and heavy, but still a little proud and happy. 'I knew you could do it.'

'Th-thanks, Ron,' she said, breathlessly. Her eyes dropped down to the letter again. 'How the _fuck_ did this happen? I screwed up my potion- it exploded in my face, in fact! What sort of Potions Master would have chosen me?'

'You'll find out soon, won't you?" said Harry, pointing at the letter. 'It says here, you're to meet your Master in the Meeting Room of Floor 12 at- at...'

His voice trailed off.

'10 O' Clock.' Hermione said, reading it out loud for him. 'Why are you-' she broke off, and her eyes widened, instantly turning to the small plastic framed clock that she had mounted in her kitchen.

'Holy shit!' she yelped, her jaw dropping open. 'I have ten fucking minutes to be there!'

* * *

With the brilliant advantage of hindsight, Hermione decided that scrubbing her face with the same tissue she had tried on the scrawl on her stomach probably wasn't the best idea. At the time, however, as she shrugged a long black coat over her informal jeans, and hurriedly bundled her hair into a bun, all she could think of was getting rid of that irritating sensation of caked make-up. It was only when she had apparated out of the apartment, and was already in the telephone booth, pinning a badge to her chest that she glanced up and caught sight of her reflection in the glass.

She almost passed out.

Her face was sickly pale, her mouth dry and chapped, and the quick scrubbing of her eyes had resulted in the fact that the kohl she had lined them with last night had smudged and made her look like a raccoon. Her hair, which she had died black in the summer, was unceremoniously distraight, and bits of dark brown were showing at the roots. The coat she had shrugged on was large, and managed to cover the sky blue tee shart and dark skinny jeans, but it was bulky and misshapen, and she was wearing brown sandals that were definitely not Ministry attire.

On the whole, she looked like shit.

Not to mention her headache was still in full form. She pressed her hand against her temples as the telephone booth slid under the ground, and then leaned her brow against the cool glass. Her feet still ached, and she was certain she could feel the beginning of a 'flu. The telephone booth landed in the Atrium with a little thud- that caused her to groan- and she dashed out, and immediately slipped into one of the lifts.

A few minutes later, she was racing down the corridor to the Meeting Room, wondering how many steps she could take before her legs simply collapsed with exhaustion. The thudding in her head increased as she skidded to a halt in front of a plain brown door, with a silver knocker embedded in its surface. Taking a deep breath, and trying to smoothe down her hair, Hermione lifted the knocker and let it drop.

'Come in,' said a voice. It was cool, slightly husky, and infinitely deliberate.

Hermione pushed open the door, and stepped inside. The room was small, sparsely furnished, and painted a blinding shade of white. At the far corner, there reposed a plain oak desk, and behind that sat-

'Good morning, Miss Granger,' said Professor Snape.

Hermione was silent for a moment. She was quickly marshalling her thoughts, and trying to catch her breath after all that running simultaneously. She wasn't, she decided, particularly surprised. After all, he _was_ one of the most noted Potion Masters in the country. It was only natural that he would be part of the committee. What _did_ surprise her though, was that-

Snape, who had been sitting erect in his chair with a sheet of paper before him, put his quill down with a sigh, and said, 'Well, come inside and sit, girl. I assumed I would be able to dispense with these formalities in your presence.'

'Y-yes, sir,' she said. Crossing the room slowly, she took her seat opposite him. It took her a few moments to realize why exactly she found the effect of his appearance so disconcerting. She was used to seeing him in the dungeons. In the brightly lit rooms, his pale countenance, and heavy black robes seemed out of place.

'Well,' said Snape, steepling his fingers under his jaw and surveying her contemplatively. 'I assume you know why you're here, Miss Granger.'

'I- well, I thought I did.' Hermione said, with a quick amendment.

Snape quirked an eyebrow. 'I would have thought that the letter sent to your address made it quite clear.'

Hermione inhaled. 'I assumed so too,' she admitted. 'Do you mean to say- do you mean to say you actually _selected_ me?'

The disbelieving tone of her voice seemed to be lost on Snape. He merely nodded, with a slightly bored expression.

'How astute, Miss Granger,' he said. 'I have selected you.' His voice trailed off, and Hermione was suddenly accutely aware of the fact that he was surveying her face, and crumpled clothes.

'Tell me, Miss Granger,' he said, in a conversive tone, 'Do you normally approach future employment opportunities looking like that, or have you deigned to make an exception of my case.'

Hermione flushed. He was watching her closely now, his eyes slightly narrowed.

'I- I'm sorry, Sir,' she said, feebly. 'I woke up late, and I didn't get the letter till very late, and- well...' Her voice trailed off, and suddenly she wished that the marble floor under them would open up and swallow her whole.

Snape was silent, for a moment, and then stood up and crossed over the room. Opening a small cabinet, he pulled out a silver carafe of water, and conjured a glass tumbler, which he filled.

'Drink this,' he said, holding it out to her. She blinked up at him, and he added, a little impatiently, 'You'll feel better, Miss Granger.'

Wordlessly, she took the tumbler and drained the water in one go. Her throat was parched. Setting the glass down on the desk after she was done, she turned her gaze up again, and saw him looking faintly amused.

'Would you like some more?' he asked.

'No thank you, Sir.' She interlocked her fingers in her lap, and looked down at them self-consciously.

Snape had walked around his desk and was seating himself once more. As he sat, he leaned forward and braced himself against the side of the table. He watched her for a moment, and then said, 'I have no doubt that you're surprised I selected you.'

'You're right. I have no idea why you would.'

Snape nodded slowly. He seemed to be contemplating her.

'Tell me,' he said, 'Why does the idea of my selecting you seem so atrocious?'

'Atrocious is not the word I would have used,' Hermione said, quietly. 'Unlikely is more like it.'

'As you wish. Why would it be so unlikely?'

'I blew up my potion.' Hermione said, bluntly.

A wide smile crossed Snape's face. With a little spark of surprise, Hermione realized that this was the first time she had seen him sport a smile that wasn't mocking or humorless.

'You blew up your potion,' he echoed, a shadow of the smile evident in his voice. 'And you believed that this represented a failure on your part?'

Hermione nodded. She had a suspicion he was baiting her. 'I would think so,' she said, folding her arms across her chest.

'Wrong. As usual, your perspectives are entirely out of order,' said Snape, the corner of his mouth tilting upwards slightly. When she continued to look lost, he leaned forward, and said, 'Miss Granger, when I came to survey the potions that were made during the Audition today, and I heard that you were one of the applicants, do you know what I expected?'

She shook her head.

'Let me tell you. I expected a potion that was a precise replica of the sample demonstrated in the various books I know you enjoy reading. I expected the color, consistency and texture of the potion to be identical to that described by Potions Masters such as Waldorf and Porrey.'

Hermione winced, as she compared the description of this potion to the reddish gloop she had ultimately produced.

'I was also entirely certain I would not select you.'

Her head shot up at that, eyes widened slightly. Snape was still leaning across the desk, but his expression as he surveyed her wasn't in the least mocking. In fact, it seemed almost encouraging.

'You thought I would have made the perfect potion, but you were certain you wouldn't select me.' she echoed, disbelievingly.

Snape nodded.

'But-' she stopped, trying to piece together the meaning of what he was saying. 'But that doesn't make sense. If I hadn't- hadn't made one last, silly mistake, my potion would have been absolutely _perfect_. Why wouldn't you have selected me?'

'I'll come back to that in a moment,' said Snape, relaxing his pose and leaning back a little. 'What was this last, silly mistake you made?'

Hermione flushed, as the memory came back to her. Suddenly, explaining her wild logic to Snape seemed ridiculous, faintly humiliating.

'Nothing,' she mumbled.

His eyes rolled slightly, and he pursed his mouth a little. 'Spare me the coyness, Granger. If you accept this post- and I assume you are going to- your education and my research will be our top priorities, and I cannot afford you being shy about adding extra ingredients.'

Oh, great. Now the flush had swooped down to her neck. She was probably looking just _delightful_.

'I added a few extra drops of phoenix tears,' she said, quietly. He raised an eyebrow, and she felt a sudden need to explain herself. 'I just thought- I've read so many cases of Memory Obscuring Potions not working entirely, and I thought that adding more of the tears might just take care of that. Besides, phoenix tears can't _harm_ anyone. They have healing properties.'

'I see,' said Snape, leaning back again and observing her with a little smile. 'So, instead of following the instructions given in the book to letter, you improvised.'

She nodded sullenly.

'Well, then,' said Snape, 'You have finally grown up.'

Her eyes shot up. 'Excuse me?'

His smile grew even more. 'What did I try to teach you for seven years, Miss Granger? Potions- any magic, for that matter- are not musty words written in books. Potions are alive. I have no need for a stuffy Apprentice who simply follows instructions from a book. Any dunderhead would be able to that- well,' he amended, with a little grimace. 'Longbottom has crushed _that_ theory of mine.'

'Let me get this straight,' said Hermione chewing, perplexedly on her lower lip. 'You selected me because I made a mistake?'

'I selected you because you dared to go slightly beyond the lines.'

'But- but my potion exploded!' Hermione said.

'Ah,' he said, 'So we're back at that. Can you tell me, Granger, why do you think your potion exploded?'

She answered immediately. 'Because I put in too much of one ingredient.'

'Wrong. Try again.'

Hermione frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' he said, patiently, 'That simply putting in too much of an ingredient isn't enough to make a potion react in such a volatile nature. Unless-' he stopped, and looked expectantly at her.

'Unless?' she continued frowning. 'Unless- what?'

Snape remained silent, his cool, black eyes levelled on her own.

'Unless,' she thought furiously. Thinking of the extra phoenix tears, the Lacewings she had diced and-

'Oh!' she said, and involuntarily, her hand raised to her mouth. She turned back to Snape. 'It was the Lacewings, wasn't it?' she asked, tumbling over her words. 'They have an acidic nature in direct contrast to the tears's base, and if I was adding one I'd have to add the other to balance it out.'

Snape nodded. Hermione found himself watching his expression very closlely. It was one that she had never noticed when he had taught them at Hogwarts- a strange mixture of encouragement and fortitude intermingled with- was it pride?'

'True,' he said, softly, 'Very true, Miss Granger. Do you see now what I mean when I say I selected you for your mistake?'

'I think I do,' she said, a little excitedly. 'You didn't choose me for what I did do- you chose me for what I _didn't_.'

Snape nodded again. 'Once more, true.' he said. 'You have potential, Miss Granger, I am not denying that. But you can fully tap that only when you _do_ step out of the books. What you made yesterday was a simple mistake, but if you had thought about it just a _little_ bit more, you would have produced a potion that could have rivalled any that I had prepared. Now tell me, Miss Granger, keeping this in mind, what does your title as my Apprentice signify.'

Aha. Comfortable territory.

'It is an academic relationship between a disciple and disciplinarian that provides, in its undertaking, for three facilities,' she chanted, 'Firstly, the furtherment of the education of the disciple. Secondly, the betterment of the research of the disciplinarian. Thirdly, the establishment of cooperation and mutual respect between the two seperate parties.' She finished with a little gleam in her eye, and a somewhat complacent expression.

'Wrong,' said Snape, in a bored voice. 'Try again.'

Hermione frowned. 'What do you mean, wrong? That definition came straight from-'

'Porke's Analysis on General Apprentices, I know,' said Snape. 'However, I did not ask for Porke's definition. I asked for yours.'

'I- I don't know.'

'Don't look so scared, Granger. There's nothing wrong in not knowing everything. When I asked you to keep yesterday's little mishap in mind while answering my question, I wanted you to understand that above all, I was looking for someone who could _think_ for themselves. The object of our academic relationship, Miss Granger, will be to guide you into thinking for yourself.'

'Thinking for myself,' Hermione mused. 'You're right,' she added, after a pause. 'I never really thought of that before. The most powerful knowledge is what we think up ourselves. Books are- well, I hate to admit it, but I suppose the only word I can think of is- _second hand_.'

Snape smiled. 'Very good, Granger,' he said, 'I expected you to take _longer_ to pick this up.'

She ignored the very obvious jibe, and said, 'Professor- what about your research? When do we talk about that? I have so many questions-'

He held up a pale, slim-fingered hand. 'That's point two, Granger,' he said, cutting her off. 'No questions.'

Hermione sat back, looking stunned. 'What?!'

'You heard me. I don't answer questions.'

'Are you- are you telling me that I can't ask you _anything?'_

'Well,' said Snape, 'If you are to learn anything, you must learn it yourself. I have no business telling it to you.'

'But-' Hermione bit her lip, struggling for words. 'But how can I even begin to learn for myself if I have no idea what I'm learning?'

Snape looked contemplative.

'Perhaps,' he said, reflectively, 'I'm rushing with this theory. Alright, let me rephrase. You may ask questions, but I will not answer them.'

'Oh, that's much better,' Hermione said.

'Sarcasm does not become you, Miss Granger. If you ask me a question, I will guide you, and help you think it out for yourself. Does that sound satisfactory?'

'Not very,' Hermione admitted. 'You seem to be making it more difficult for me than it has to be.'

He shook his head. 'Not more difficult.' he said. 'More real.'

Hermione looked curious. 'That's a- a strange choice of words,' she said, 'More real.' She was silent for a moment, and then said, 'Do you think the education we got at Hogwart's was not, in the sense of the term, real?'

A slow smile spread across Snape's face. He steepled his fingers under his determined chin.

'Ah,' he said, 'You're training begins, Miss Granger.'

* * *

**Author's Note: Well? What do you think? Is he Snape-y enough?**


	3. Chopsticks and Owls

CHAPTER 3

'It can't be,' Harry said, disbelievingly. 'It simply can't!'

'I assure you, it is,' Hermione said, picking up some dimsum with her chopsticks and putting it into her mouth. She chewed for a bit, swallowed, and then said, 'I don't blame you for looking so shocked. I couldn't speak for about five minutes after I saw him sitting behind that desk.'

Ron picked up a bottle of beer and took a swig from it. 'But why?' he asked, in faintly bewildered tones. 'That's what I don't get. Snape _hated_ you.'

Hermione shrugged. 'I don't know, really. He seems to have changed his mind about me. A lot of the things he said were actually- well, interesting.'

The three of them were holed up in her apartment, laying back on the sofa and hogging on take out Chinese food. After returning from her meeting, Hermione had soaked in a tub for about an hour, supplementing that with coffee that was generously laced with brandy and lots of iced water. Both boys had cleaned up and left her apartment by then, but they returned in the evening, after work, to find out how her interview had gone. Hermione had set her VCR to record Lipstick Jungle (which Ron had developed a sudden interest in) and they were surfing through the episodes, skipping advertisements. Slowly, however, they had weaned themselves off the Lipstick addiction, and were pondering over the unfathomable mystery that was Snape.

'Maybe this is some sort of revenge,' Ron suggested. 'Maybe he wants to appoint you as his apprentice so that he can make your life living hell.'

'You know, I really don't think so,' Hermione said, thoughtfully. 'He seemed really sincere about this today. Or at least how sincere it's possible to sound when you're Snape. Besides, this position is very important to him as well. He can't just go about selecting random students he hated to teach and now wants to destroy.'

'Yes, because that would be the whole school.' Ron pointed out.

'That's not what I mean, you idiot. I mean I think he's really serious about this, which is great, because so am I!'

She lifted herself off the couch and headed over to the fridge. Yanking it open, she found a jar of chunky salsa, and pulled it out, closing the fridge with her bottom.

'But Herms,' said Harry, leaning forward and putting his plate of chop suey on the coffee table, 'Do you realize what working with Snape means? It's not going to be easy. In fact, I'm willing to bed it will be a living nightmare.'

'Aha,' said Hermione, heading back towards the couch. 'That's where I think you're wrong.'

She sat down, and picked up her plate of noodles, spooning salsa into it and mixing it in. Ron made a faintly disgusted noise at this, but she ignored it and continued, 'See the way I see it, Snape hated me at Hogwarts because he didn't like my- well, faintly know-it-all attitude.' She said, with a little cringe.

Harry coughed. 'Faintly?'

'Shut up. But now, he knows that I actually have brains, and that I'm willing to admit that there's still a lot for me to learn. Or at least I think he does, given from our conversation today. He said I had potential.' she said, a little proudly.

Ron mimed fainting. 'Potential! Snape! He must have been drunk!'

'Well, he wasn't. He was actually being genuine. But now that he sees me differently, I think he'll treat me differently as well.'

'I wouldn't count on it.' Harry said, warningly.

Hermione frowned. 'Why not, though? The only reason he was so mean to me in school was because he wanted to bring my pride down a peg. Right now, I'm as humble as- well, as Ron gets during Transfiguration. That has to mean _something_ to him!'

'Hermione, this is _Snape_ we're talking about,' Ron said, reaching for the paper bag of crispy noodles and emptying it only to his plate. 'Nothing means anything to him. If he was being nice to you today-'

'I didn't say nice,' Hermione interrupted, 'I said _reasonable_.'

'All the more reason to be scared,' Ron interpreted. 'He's planning something.'

Hermione snorted as she forked some salsa-and-noodle goop into her mouth. 'What the hell would he be planning?' she asked.

Ron shrugged, but Harry chipped in helpfully. 'Homicide? Rape? Arson? The list is endless. Of course, there's the possibility he's on coke.'

'Snape the crackhead,' Ron murmured, musingly. 'Hm. I could see it.'

Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance, that was nothing compared to the irritation she had felt back in school when her best friend's had bitched continuously about Snape. She sighed softly, as she tried to figure it out. Perhaps, she thought, it was because at that time defending Snape had been something of a _duty_. He had, after all, been a teacher, and she couldn't just let them talk that way about him. But now, she realized, he wasn't just a teacher.

He was her master.

She stifled a smile as she thought of his behavior that morning. He had been remarkably decent, very reasonable, and she realized, with a little prickle of pride, actually encouraging. Like he wanted her to learn.

And now that he seemed to be supporting her, Hermione actually felt a tad- just a tad, mind you- bit protective of him.

She bit her lip, mildly surprised at this new realization, and grabbed the bottle of beer on the coffee table, noting with a little cringe that it had left a ring. Taking a swig, she adjusted her perspectives to her sudden understanding, and said, in a mildly chiding tone, 'I don't think you guys should talk about him like that.'

Harry and Ron turned to face her and rolled their eyes dramatically. 'Hermione- please don't start with this again.' Ron said, holding up his large, freckled hands.

Harry grinned. 'We know you have a soft corner for Snape. Hell- you made that pretty clear in school. But I think it's high time you understood that he's Evil.'

Hermione blinked. 'I don't have a soft corner for Snape! I just respect him!'

Ron winced. 'Sacriledge!' he muttered.

'Well,' said Harry, 'I suppose you would respect him. He is brilliant after all, there's no denying that. But I suggest you don't think that working for Snape is going to be all picnics and daisies.'

'I didn't say it was going to be,' Hermione pointed out, taking a swig of her beer. 'But I don't think he's going to be unfair, the way he was back in school.'

'He'll still be difficult. You know that, right?'

'Harry, this is Snape.' Hermione said, meaningfully. 'He's brilliant, but after seven years of being taught by him, I know he's difficult.'

Harry sighed, and leaned back against his couch. 'Just wanted to make sure you remembered that.' he muttered.

* * *

Predictably, Harry and Ron left before it was time to clean up, and so Hermione changed into her pajamas and washed her face with the weary, resigned air of someone who was preparing to face a room full of paper packets and plastic cartons, and the occasional piece of noodle on the floor. She found her wand on her dining table- nestled between the tucks of her grandmother's now terrible torn table cloth, and began to point it at the various pieces of junk scattered around.

'Evanesco,' she muttered, pointing her wand around the room. Odd bits of trash simply blinked away into nothingness, and she smiled with satisfaction as the room slowly took on a semblance of normalcy. It was only after the beer rings were gone, and she was concentrating on a smudge of salsa on the floor, that she heard the tapping and crossed over to the small, thickly-paned window. Pulling aside the chintz curtain, she found herself face-to-very-annoyed-face with the tawny owl that had delivered her letter earlier that morning.

'Oh,' she said, tiredly. 'It's you. I was wondering when you'd come. Professor Snape keeps late hours, doesn't he?'

The owl did not choose to reply. It was hovering inches away from the glass with an expression of pure contempt.

'How like your master you are,' Hermione said, observantly, as her fingers worked at the latch on the glass. It took her a while to get the window open because it was dusty and unused, and when she finally did it in the owl glided inside with a graceful swoop and a reproachful hoot.

'I'm sorry,' said Hermione, vaguely wondering when she had started talking to owls, 'Can I have my letter now?' she added, holding out her hand.

The owl extended a leg, and Hermione untied the scroll. Smoothening it out on her palm, she quickly read the neatly penned words.

_Miss Granger,_

_If you would be so kind as to come to my office at Hogwarts at 10 O' Clock tomorrow morning, we could discuss the details of your appointment, and if agreeable to you, sign a bond to the effect of the commencement of our academic relationship._

_If you attire could be more appropriate this time?_

Hermione read through the note a second time, and then let loose a hearty chuckle. She couldn't help it. The note was absolutely chuckle-worthy. It was so classic Snape that she could practically visualize him sitting down at a desk and penning down the few words. What, for example, was the deal with the over-employment of interrogatives? Especially when she knew he didn't mean them in the least.

The owl hooted.

'But he doesn't,' said Hermione, transgressing seamlessly from thought to dialogue- well, monologue. 'I know he doesn't mean them. See, for example, this sentence here- _If you would be so kind as to blah blah,_ obviously means be at my office at ten tomorrow, or I _will_ kick your arse.'

When the owl remained silent, Hermione laughed again and shook her head. 'This is ridiculous. I don't do the whole talking to animals thing. I suppose your waiting for a reply, hm?' She glanced around the room for a paper and a quill. 'Hang on for just one second.'

Grabbing a notepad from her telephone stand, and finding nothing other than an ordinary ballpoint pen, she scribbed a quick reply, and tied it to the foot of the owl.

'There you go,' she said, with a little coo. She couldn't help it. The owl really was incredibly handsome. The golden markings on its chest extended to the tip of its wings, and its eyes were dark and burnished, its head gracefully flattened at the crown. Its ear tufts were small and crisp. She stroked them with the tip of her index finger, and said, 'Well, I suppose you should leave now.'

The owl agreed with another soft hoot, and then rose into the air and glided quietly out the window. Hermione sighed and sat back down at her dining table, drawing her ceramic ashtray closer to her.

Her last thought, as she stubbed out her cigarette and headed to sleep, was that she should remember to set the alarm for seven the next morning, so that she could get up early and comply to Snape's request regarding her attire.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hm. Not as long as I thought it would turn out to be. I'll update quicker next time, though.**

**Thanks to all the people who reviewed, especially Sampdoria and codeinepink, who took the time to write long, and more importantly constructive reviews. And yes, there WILL be Snape in the next chapter.**

**I missed him in this one, you know?**


	4. Gossip and Potions

CHAPTER 4

As she stepped out of her apartment the next morning, and climbed into the elevator that began to slowly glide down the six floors to the lobby, Hermione found herself examining her reflection in the mirror. She had put a lot of thought into what she wore that day; anxious to wipe Snape's mind clear of her appearance the last time they had met, and simultaneously impress him with her professionalism and competance, it had taken her a while to find the outfit that rightly blended formality with- well, with prettiness, she thought, a little lamely.

She had finally settled on fitted black trousers, and a white linen shirt with a crisp collar that fell gracefully to her waist. She had scraped the regal mess that was her hair into a chignon, and clipped back any loose strands, making a note to make an appointment with her parlor to her dye her roots. She wore patent leather heels, dangerously black, and somewhat excrutiating. As she stepped out of the lobby and onto the street, she wondered whether flats may not have been a better option.

The day was bracingly cold, a stiff wind teasing about the edges of buildings and catching at her bare neck. Shrugging on the black jacket she had been holding draped across an arm, she tucked her hands into the pockets and walked quickly down the road. At the corner was a small, ramshackle red telephone booth with colorfully worded graffiti scrawled across its panes. Stepping into it, Hermione closed the door. Pinned to the instrument was a little note that was visible onto to witches and wizards.

_Apparition Point 98_

Hearing the door snick behind her, Hermione reached into her pocket for her wand, and quickly apparated to Hogsmeade.

She had aimed for The Three Broomsticks, because she planned to pick up a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette before heading to Hogwarts. Rosmerta, who was huddled behind the counter despite the early hour of the morning, smiled brightly when she pushed open the door to the little pub and stepped inside.

'Hullo, Hermione,' she said, standing up and hugging her over the counter. 'I haven't had you here in ages, have I? You look wonderful.'

'You do too,' Hermione said admiringly, glancing down at the lady's shiny red dress and heels. Although it had been years since she had first met Rosmerta, the woman hadn't seemed to have aged in the least. Her blonde hair was still as shiny and demurely curling, and the pert tilt of her nose and the tightness of cheeks wasn't marred with any lines. Hermione ordered a cup of coffee on the go, and then lit a cigarette as Rosmerta bustled about getting it ready.

'I didn't think I'd ever see you this side again,' said Rosmerta, as she held a paper cup under a faucet and pointed her wand desicively at it. A stream of hot, black coffee immediately began to drain into the cup. 'How are Harry and- what's his name? The Weasley boy?'

'Ron,' Hermione supplied, suppressing the flash of amusement that she felt when she imagined Ron's indignancy at this social blunder. 'They're both fine. Harry's just about to complete his Auror training, and Ron's interning with Lawyer Blakely.'

'They've done well for themselves,' Rosmerta said affectionately, fixing a plastic lid on the cup and sticking a spoon into it. 'It's been- what- four years since you graduated from Hogwarts?'

Hermione nodded, surprised at the older lady's memory. 'That's right.'

'And what brings you to this part of the world?' asked Rosmerta, ducking down to pick up some packets of sugar. She frowned, and then added, 'Two packets, wasn't it?'

Hermione nodded gratefully and said, 'Well, I've been training for my Apprentice Audition.'

Rosmerta raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 'Not bad,' she said, nodding in an impressed fashion. 'That's one of the highest levels of academia. Did you get selected?'

Hermione nodded, a little proudly. 'That's why I'm here.' she said. 'Professor Snape selected me.'

At this, both of Rosmerta's eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared behind her blonde bangs. 'Professor Snape?' she echoed. 'You mean- Severus Snape? Hermione, that's brilliant!'

'Well,' said Hermione, shrugging modestly.

'No- I mean it,' said Rosmerta, sliding the coffee across the counter. 'He's one of the best Potions Masters in England. I'm sure you could learn a lot from him. Besides,' she added, in an offhand way, that Hermione had come to associate with the despatchment of high-quality gossip. 'You can also keep an eye on him, you know.'

Hermione frowned, as she lifted the plastic lid of her cup and stirred her coffee. 'Keep an eye on him?' she asked, puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

Rosmerta's face lit up. Hermione wasn't surprised. She had always loved spilling a few beans here and there.

'Well,' she said, leaning in a conspiratory fashion over the counter, and cupping her chin in her hand. 'The word on the street is that Professor Snape's getting into some pretty dangerous research. We had a couple of Ministry workers here a few weeks back, and I hear that they were hear to inspect his work. They were even mentioning that it might be detrimental to his health, and that- well, that he was taking quite a few hefty risks.'

Hermione frowned. 'Really?' she asked, a little doubtfully. 'This is the first I'm hearing of this.'

Rosmerta shrugged. 'Well, it's not something that's worth going public, is it. I don't think the Ministry's even very sure about what Professor Snape's working on. I wish I could have pumped something out of the Ministry workers, but as it was, I was simply lurking behind their table and trying to hear what they were talking about,' she added, a little ruefully.

Hermione smiled. 'Well,' she said, bracingly. 'I'm sure it can't be _too_ bad. Snape isn't dumb, after all. I'll find out pretty soon anyway.'

'Of course you will,' Rosmerta said, cheerfully. She grinned, and added, 'You will let me know, won't you?'

'Of course I will,' said Hermione, with an equally brilliant smile.

_Over my dead body._

* * *

The wind caught her afresh as she stepped out of the Three Broomsticks, and began to wind her way up the tortuous path that led to the Hogwarts gates. She found herself wishing that she had thought to bring a scarf. Not to mention that the towering heels were already beginning to feel like they were slowly filling with her blood.

She shook her head, and sighed, taking a swig of coffee and lighting another cigarette. Although she didn't want to admit it, Rosmerta's news _was_ a little disconcerting. Snape might not be stupid, she mused, but he certainly was ambitious, and had little regard for Ministry protocol. And besides, no matter how much she despised Rosmerta's gossip-monging ways, she had to admit that the woman had an unerring knack for digging out the truth.

Even it it meant that within the next few days, the truth was spread across the streets like butter.

But _could_ there be any truth in these rumors, she wondered, as the path she was following twisted sharply upwards and a splinter of pain rocketed up her ankle. She winced. It seemed- well, unlikely, she conceded, but at the same time not impossible. How like Snape it would be to research and brew a potentially destructive potion, and deem the Ministry idiots for prohibiting it.

But if that were true- and she wasn't saying it was- where exactly did that leave her?

She grasped idly at the button of her jacket and fiddled with it as she trekked up the path. If Snape was twisting Ministry protocol like a noodle, and she was his Apprentice, wouldn't that put her in a potentially dangerous situation? She shuddered as she pictured her career tumbling around her like shards of glass just because Snape had got a little pushy. That definitely wasn't what she wanted.

But then- what did she want?

The answer, she realized, to that was brilliantly clear. She wanted to work with Snape.

Their talk, the other day, in the Meeting Room had had a profound impact on her, causing her to see the snarky old man in a way she had never imagined before. And she wouldn't lie to herself- she knew, that if she applied herself properly, there was a lot she could learn from him. But having said that, was it worth risking her entire career?

_Stop it_, she chided herself. _You haven't even heard about his research yet. Are you honestly going to let Rosmerta of all people steer you away from a potentially brilliant Potions Master?_

But if she _were_ right?

Hermione sighed, as the painfully familiar wrought-iron gates swung into view behind pine boughs. The castle loomed brilliantly behind it, looking fresh and expectant in the early morning light, as though welcoming her back after four long years. A wave of relaxation poured through her shoulders, and she almost stopped noticing the pain in he ankles.

It was like being home again.

I'll ask him about his research, she decided. And then I'll decide whether I want to sign the bond, or not.

* * *

The corridor to the dungeons hadn't changed in the least.

Hermione remembered traversing the narrow, stony passage ways during her years as a student. Those trips had always been accompanied by a pallor of despondency, directly related to the hour or two of time she would have to spend in Snape's company. Now, however, her surroundings didn't seem quite so ominous. For the first time, she noticed the array of torches, carved in some sort of magical wood with engravings of fruits and berries that were fixed on the walls, and lit with small, controlled flames. They cast a comfortable glow on the stone, widening in little circles with each step she took. She wondered if Snape personally lit and extinguished those torches every morning and evening, or if they were allowed to burn throughout.

She had wanted to stop and meet Professor McGonagall before heading to Snape's office, but a glance at her watch told her she had less than five minutes to get there, and she didn't want to push her punctuality this time. She made a mental note to see Professor McGonagall after her meeting with Snape and headed down to the dungeons. Now, she walked slowly down them, a hand pressed to the wall to feel the coolness of the stone in her fingertips. She had always remembered the dungeons as being cold, but now they felt significantly warmer than the air outside.

Her hand bumped into an uneven surface, and she stopped to face the door that led to her old Potions classroom. The door was arched on the top, made of heavy oak, and set with a pattern of iron nails that had rusted slightly, and felt rough and bracing. Hermione knew that Snape's office was further down the corridor, but suddenly, she felt an indistinct urge to open the door and peek at the room- only for a second. She was strangely curious to see if her perception of the classroom had changed as much as that of the dungeons themselves.

Besides, she reminded herself, glancing at her watch, she had a minute or so left to meet Snape anyway.

Making up her mind, she pushed open the door, and was instantly hit with a deep, cloying smell, and a little puff of steam. The air about her was dry, and the sudden onset of humidity was alarming. She sucked in her breath, and then exhaled slowly, before pushing open the door and stepping inside.

Although the classroom was devoid of students, three cauldrons sat on Snape's desk, each of them indicating their presence in different ways. The first one had a portable stove with a fire set under it, and was emitting a steady column of mauve steam. The steam had arced at the ceiling and slowly filled the entire classroom. Hermione felt the roof of her mouth go dry after mere seconds of stepping into it.

The second cauldron was steaming as well, although there was no fire. This cauldron, however, seemed to be less hot than the first one, as the wisps of steam that sifted from its surface were feeble and almost colorless, looking merely like small disturbances in the air. Hermione tiptoed past chairs and tables, and caught a strong whiff of the potion. No doubt, the sickly, cloying smell was coming from the second cauldron.

She made her way up to the desk. The first cauldron, she saw, was bubbling violently. The potion inside it was a rich color that could be violet, although it seemed to have a bit too much red in it to be called exactly that. The steam that was pouring from it was suffocating, and Hermione gagged the minute she stuck her head over it. Drawing back, she drew in some fresh- well, relatively fresh- air, and then peeked at the second cauldron.

This one seemed to be a more subdued version of the first. The color of the potion was a little deeper, and a little bluer than the first, resulting in a rich purple. It boiled slowly and contemplatively, without the rigorous fervor of the first one. The steam rose from its surface in little wisps, and dissipated ruminatively into the air. The smell, however, was unmistakeable. There was something alarming about the smell. If it had been a little more moderate, it would have been pleasant, but as it was, it was overhwelming and not a little aggressive. Hermione pictured dozens of roses being sugared and boiled in syrup, but somehow, even that didn't seem to come close.

Shaking her head, she turned to the third cauldron.

This cauldron had no fire lit in it. She could tell that the potion was deathly cold, because little drops of condensation had formed on its surface. The potion inside was still. Leaning over, she could catch no smell or steam. It's surface was shiny, and flat, a deep mauve color that looked odd inside the rusted iron cauldron.

Hermione frowned as she contemplated the third cauldron. For some reason, she was sorely tempted to stick her finger into it. She wasn't stupid though. Even if her own common sense (and she had plenty of _that_, she reminded herself, a little smugly) hadn't prevailed, the look on Snape's face if he caught her stopped her dead in her tracks. Instead, she turned her attention to the little table that had been set up near the desk, that was supposed to contain ingredients and tools.

The first thing she caught sight of was a small knife. It's handle seemed to be made of ivory, carved intricately into a whirwild of small designs and textures. It's blade was smelted in pure silver, shining confidently in the dim dungeon life.

The blade seemed to be faintly stained with blood.

But that could be blood from anything, she reminded herself. Perhaps he had used it to carve out a goat's stomach and pull out a bezoar.

Next to the knife was a little cup, also made of silver. It was also filled, about half-way up with blood.

Hermione felt a little chill shoot up her spine. Rosmerta's words, which had only disconcerted her earlier, now weighed like a heavy load on her shoulders. She lit the tip of her wand and held it to the cup, trying to determine if the blood was too light (meaning it was drawn from an animal) or too fluid (an entity-spirit).

It wasn't, though.

She turned her attention to the item beside the cup of blood.

'You seem to be absorbed, Miss Granger.'

Hermione startled so violently that her wand slipped from her hand. For an agonising moment, she thought it would fall onto the tray, and into the cup of blood, but as she watched, it rolled off the edge of the tray and clattered to the ground. Without bending to pick it up, she whirled around, and saw that Snape had entered the classroom and was leaning against the door.

His expression was faintly amused, but there was something in the rigidity of his stance, and the set of his mouth that instantly alarmed Hermione. He was dressed in his usual black robes, and they draped over his tall figure and fell to the ground with a grace that suddenly seemed intimidating. She swallowed nervously as he uncrossed the arms that had been folded across his chest, and took a step forward.

'I seem to remember asking you to arrive at my office,' he said, quietly. 'Or was my letter worded ambiguously?'

He dangled the opening in front of her, raising an eyebrow. Hermione did not reply, and he added a little sigh.

'Strange, Granger,' he said, beginning to walk up to the front of the classroom. 'I always thought you were quick on the uptake.'

'I-' she paused, and swallowed again, uncomfortable aware of the steam that was pouring from the cauldrons onto the back of her neck. 'I just wanted to have a look.' she finished finally, somewhat lamely.

Snape raised a accursed eyebrow. 'I won't pretend to be surprised that you don't have any scruples considering spying,' he said, comfortably. 'Why did you come in here?'

She shrugged. 'I haven't seen this classroom in over four years.' she said. 'I wanted to see if it had changed.'

Snape moved to his desk, and leaned back against it, once more crossing his arms over his chest.

'And has it?' he inquired.

Hermione frowned. 'Honestly,' she admitted, 'I hadn't noticed. I was too busy- well, too busy-'

'Eyeing my potions?' suggested Snape.

Hermione said something indistinct.

Shaking his head slightly, Snape circled his desk and sat down on the chair. Hermione was forcibly reminded of all the classes that she had sat in the front row, waving her arms about in a futile attempt to garner some of his attention. He looked much more like she remembered here, in his own dungeons. His hair, which had always been unkempt, hung around his face in a shiny, shaggy fashion that did nothing to soften the deathly pallor of his skin. His neck was long, and if she looked carefully, she could catch sight of a spidery formation of pale green veins under the surface.

Despite all that, however, his eyes seemed to have changed a little. They seemed warmer, somehow, more approachable, and more than a little humorous- although things that Snape found humorous were generally treated with caution in the wizarding world. The expression he was surveying her with now was nothing short of amused.

'Well,' he said, the beginnings of a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. 'Aren't you going to pick your wand up?'

With a little start, Hermione realized that her wand was still lying on the floor behind her. Without taking her eyes off Snape's face, she bent her knees and groped behind her with her hand. As her fingers closed over the thin wood, and she felt the little spark that she associated with her own magic signature sparkle through them, she picked up the wand with relief and straightened herself.

'Now,' said Snape, 'If you'll follow me back to my office, which was, in fact, where this meeting was scheduled, we can start talking about our agreement. I'm sure, Miss Granger, that you have a lot of- questions.'

Smirking a little at this last word, he turned around and strode out of the classroom.

* * *

**Author's Note: Well? It seemed a little fragmented when I wrote it, but hopefully it'll all make sense the next chapter. Thanks to all the people who reviewed =)**

**Snape *melt***

* * *


	5. Eavesdropping and Bonds

CHAPTER 5

Rosmerta bent down behind the counter, and began to pull out stacks of plates. She ignored the ache that spread across her back as she did so. After all, she reasoned, wearing four-inch heels ten hours a day had its drawbacks.

As she pulled the plates onto the counter, and found a cloth to wipe them with, she ran her eyes over the tables, making sure the chairs were straight, and the centrepieces arranged. Soon, she knew, she would get a small inflow of customers who came in for a late-morning breakfast before heading for work. She cast a glance at the arrangement of glasses stacked up against the wall, mentally calculating whether they would be enough. As she finished wiping the last plate, she heard a low tinkle and looked up to see two men enter the restaurant.

Both of them wore dark travelling cloaks, that looked heavy and worn with dust. Their hoods were pulled up, but she could see evidence of gingery beard on one's chin. They walked up to one of the tables and sat down cautiously, glancing around a little nervously as they did so.

Rosmerta raised an eyebrow. Heavily cloaked, hooded men were not a speciality of hers, especially in the light of the day. Putting down the last plate, she tightened her apron strings and walked carefully over to them, the clicking of heels on the wooden floor interrupting the silence. As she did so, one of them looked up.

'Can I help you?' she inquired, curiously. His face was pale and smooth, and his eyes dark. The beard was neater and more trimmed than she had imagined at first. He lifted his arm to the table top, and she caught sight of his hand, long-fingered and elegant, with a finely carved gold ring on his thumb.

Rosmerta frowned. Men in dusty travelling cloaks did not, as a rule, wear engraved gold rings.

'We would like two coffees, please,' said the man with the beard. 'Black, no sugar.'

Rosmerta nodded. The frown that had etched itself between her brows did not ebb away. She turned around reluctantly, and as she did so, she sensed both men lean together and start whispering.

She quickened her pace, and when she got behind the counter, she leaned down to pick up the jug of coffee she had already prepared for Hermione, earlier in the day. She set a charm on it that would warm it slowly, and then bending down again, this time, picking up a small gray colored box. She opened it discreetly, and unwrapped the folds of tissue paper within. Tucked safely inside was a single Extendable Ear.

Rosmerta glanced to see that the two men were still deep in conversation. They were. She cast a Disillusionment on the Extendable Ear, and then touched the coffee jug, which was now hot enough to scald the tip of her finger. She poured it into two cups which she began to hover over their table, walking behind them with the Extendable Ear tucked in her palm.

'Here you go,' she said, brightly, as she approached their table. Both men immediately broke their conversation and leaned back. 'It's fresh. Drink it while it's hot.'

She hitched another smile onto her face as she slid the cups towards them, and in an extension of that movement, dropped the Extendable Ear beneath their table. She heard a muffled thump, and knew that it had fallen somewhere out of sight. Catching the string of the Ear between her index finger and thumb she turned around and walked back to the counter, letting the string out as she did so.

'Thank you,' called one of them behind her retreating back. She did not answer.

When she got behind the counter, she opened a door that led to the backroom, and entered, leaving it slightly ajar so that the string could pass through.

The backroom was stacked with all manner of boxes and cartons, tins and spoons all heaped haphazardly around the floor. A small three-legged stool reposed in the middle of the rubbish, and it was to this that Rosmerta headed.

'Now,' she murmured, as she seated herself and pulled at the string. 'Who exactly are you two, and what are you doing here?'

* * *

Snape held the door of his office open for her to step in.

As Hermione brushed past him, she couldn't help the slight flush that stained her cheeks. He wore an expression of thorough detatchment, as though he was simply watching her on a movie screen, and trying to determine exactly how stupid her next move to get. He closed the door gently behind her, and she heard a soft snick as the lock caught. Then, he strode over to his desk, and seated himself deliberately behind it.

Hermione found herself inspecting her office. She had heard tales of it from Harry, but had never really ventured into this room herself. Like the rest of the dungeons, it seemed to be carved from stone, and there was a tinge of dampness in the air. His desk was pushed into a far corner, a solid mahogany affair that was riddled with shelves and pigeon holes, all stuffed- albeit neatly- with papers, files and quills. An old-fashioned silver ink stand stood on top, as well as a small black plume.

The walls of the office were lined with shelves, from ceiling to floor. The shelves were thick and solid, possibly made of oak, and filled, three spaces deep, with small, capped jars. Hermione longed to walk over to inspect them, but deciding that was unwise, she simply craned her neck a little and peered. At first glance, it was a random whirlwind of objects- brains, innards, eyes, leaves, feathers- all suspended gloomily in a mauve colored, Jell-O like substance, and capped tightly. There was even, she noticed with some surprise, what looked like a fishbone. One shelf was reserved entirely for ladles and graters, she noticed. They were made from every conceivable metal, even carved from wood and ivory, and some had engravings that she knew would influence the potion they were made on.

'Are you quite done, Miss Granger?'

With a start, she was rushed back to reality. She tore her gaze from the array of jars, and transferred it back to Snape's cool scrutiny.

'I think so, Sir,' she said, a little nervously.

He nodded. 'Then sit down. I would like to discuss the terms of your duration as my Apprentice.'

Hermione swallowed, and took her seat opposite him. She noticed that Snape seemed much more at ease over here, in the familiarity of his own dungeons, than he had in the Meeting Room the day before. It was nothing she could definitely put her finger on, she mused, and yet it was there. The set of his spine and his mouth seemed a little more relaxed, and he splayed his fingers across the table in a comfortable fashion, as though acknowledging the whorls of wood that were known intimately to him. She noticed that his gaze was resting shamelessly on her face, as though trying to determine what she was thinking.

It was strangely disconcerting.

The silence in the room had grown thick and stagnant, and Hermione felt the need to break it. She cleared her throat, and then nervously brought her hands to the table.

'You- you wanted to discuss my appointment, Sir?' she asked, feebly.

Snape was silent for a beat. Then, he jerked his shoulders slightly, and his expression turned bracing.

'That's right, Miss Granger,' he said, firmly. 'I would go into the legal details of this appointment, but I'm sure you've already learnt them. Suffice to say, there are only a few variables that we have to solidify.'

'One of them being a time duration,' Hermione cut in.

Snape nodded. 'That is correct.' He remained silent.

Hermione paused for a moment, and then said, 'Sir, a time duration is generally agreed upon depending on the research that is being undertaken. More strenuous subjects will require a higher amount of time.'

Snape nodded.

She swallowed, and Rosmerta's warning came floating back to her mind. Taking a deep breath, she said, 'I think, Sir, that I would feel a lot more comfortable- regarding the solidifying of variables such as this _and others_- if we could discuss the nature of your research before setting any long-term obligations.'

Snape continued to regard her. His expression remained stony. When he spoke, his mouth moved with a rigidity she was all too familiar with.

'I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that it is out of the question.'

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Finally, she thought, the Old Snape. The unreasonable, prejudiced Snape who I had forgotten existed. Here he is, once again, in all his glory. Ta da!

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'My refusal to divulge the academic elements of your apointment does not seem to surpise you, Miss Granger.'

'It does not, Sir.'

'Would you care to explain why?'

'Just- just because-'

'Could you be more precise, Miss Granger?'

Oh well, thought Hermione.

'You've never shown any signs of being a reasonable man, Sir.'

For a heartbeat, she thought that he was going to get up and catch her by the ear and drag her painfully out of his office. Her breath hitched slightly in her throat. A split second later, however, his expression went lax.

'Concisely put, Miss Granger,' he said, with a slight curl of his lip. 'However, I beg to disabuse you of that notion.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. His tone was not cruel. Infact, it was provocative.

'What do you mean, Sir?'

'I mean, Miss Granger, that although I may not be considered the paradigm of reason, I am not without it.'

'I wasn't talking about reason, Sir. I was talking about reasonable behavior.'

'Reasonable behavior, Miss Granger, stems from reason. Surely that is obvious?'

Hermione caught her bottom lip between her teeth in confusion. She could not fault his words. However, the implications of each term seemed so different from the other, that she could not truly accept that one stemmed from the other.

'You look, sceptical, Miss Granger.'

She turned back to look at him, and saw that his eyes, cool and unruffled were appraising her.

'I- well, I am,' she admitted. _Might as well be hung for a dragon as an egg. _'You say that reasonable behavior stems from reason. It doesn't seem so, though, does it? I know that you're filled with _reason_. Any good potion-maker must have skills of reasoning. But as for reasonable behavior, I can't really associate it with you.'

Snape's eyes glowed softly. 'As usual, Miss Granger, you're allowing the shallow implications of words to confuse you of their original intent.'

Hermione sensed an insult, but did not make any remark. Instead, she cupped her chin in her hands, and felt her fingers splay coolly across her cheek.

'Could you be more precise, Sir?'

The soft glow in Snape's eyes immediately transformed into something hot and fiery, alive with anticipation. He leaned forward slightly, and steepled his fingers under his chin. When he spoke, his words were carefully measured, and yet pregnant with meaning, as though he was following parallel processes in his own mind that were leading him to some unfathomable discovery.

'What I mean, Miss Granger, is that over time, words have begun to adopt implications- not meanings, but implications- which cloud their meaning. For example, when you refer to me as being a man who does not have a reasonable nature, what you want to say is that I am not- amiable.'

Hermione blinked.

'Amiable?'

'You may substitute that with affable, if you wish. You perceive a man with a reasonable nature as being affable. That is to say, someone who agrees to your ideas without much of a conflict.'

'I- I suppose,' Hermione said, with a little frown.

'A man of _reason_, on the other hand, you percieve as someone who is thoughtful, and dangerously practical, someone who has the ability to see the logic of simple circumstances. Is that not true, Miss Granger.'

'It is, Sir.'

'And don't you think that a reasonable nature stems from a man of reason? A reasonably natured man weighs outcomes, measures circumstances, and uses logic to frame his response. Notions of affability, which I am sure have crept into your mind from poorly worded romance novels, have no space in the realm of reason.'

He said the last three words with a strange respect, and Hermione suddenly realized that reason was Severus Snape's God. She understood the truth of his words, though. His idea of misconceptions regarding the implications of words had always been there, she realized, in an unformed way at the back of her mind. The part that irked her, though was-

'I don't read poorly worded romance novels.'

This time, it was Snape who looked taken aback. He blinked.

Then, the corner of his mouth twitched again, and he said, 'If you say so.'

He pulled open a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he set on the table.

'These, Miss Granger,' he said, tapping the top most page with the tip of his index finger, 'Are some guidelines regarding your appointment that I have penned down. All the details of my research are in this.'

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She exhaled carefully, and then said, 'I assume I'm not allowed to read it, just now.'

The tip of his mouth curled slightly. 'Perspicacious, Miss Granger. I am withholding this information for the time being.'

She sighed. 'Am I allowed to know why?'

'Is that a question, Miss Granger?'

'I thought I was permitted to ask them.'

'Yes, but I have not permitted myself to answer them. I'd rather you answer them on your own.'

Hermione felt a flash of frustration building in her stomach. His expression was still cool, his stance unflappable, but she felt far from it. In fact, something that felt suspiciously like the beginning of anger was beginning to develope in her brain. How, she asked herself, could he expect her to bind herself to him for any amount of time- in an academic sense, no less- if he was not going to divulge details of his research to her? Was this some sort of guessing game? No, she amended, quickly, Snape truly did not want her to know. For the time being, at least.

'You haven't answered the question, Miss Granger.'

_Ironic, _ she thought, wryly, _considering I'm the one who asked it._

Aloud, she simply said, 'You said you were withholding this information for the time being. Can you tell me when I am allowed to know what I am supposed to help you research?'

The quirk of his lip widened. Hermione had a sneaky suspicion that it was a smile.

'Until you sign the bond.' he said, simply.

Hermione's eyes widened. So, he would not tell her until she had pledged herself academically to him. She had no doubt that the bond would also include a Clause of Silence. Most of these Apprentice-Master agreements did. So, once she had signed the bond, she would have to work alongside him no matter the nature of his research. She groaned mentally as she realized that her prior plan of understanding his research, and then deciding whether to go through with this or not had effectively turned null and void. She struggled to stop the frown that she was mentally parading from showing on her face.

'I assume,' she said, in a tight voice, 'That there is an inclusive Clause of Silence.'

The quirk again. Now she was certain that it was a smile.

'Very true, Miss Granger. They are considered mandatory, in an unofficial sense, are they not.'

'I assume their function is not so casual in this case.' Hermione muttered, rebelliously.

The quirk extended now, until his mouth trembled a little, and she saw amusement in his eyes.

'Astute,' he said, encouragingly. 'You seem to have worries about this arrangement. Would you care to share?'

Hermione bit her lip. She couldn't, of course, tell him. After all, what was there to tell? That she was worried because Rosmerta had, in an age-old fashion, leaned across the counter and poured gossip into her ears? He would be disgusted. He would probably retract the offer he had made her, and then she wouldn't even have the choice.

'I am sure,' said Snape, lightly, 'That over the counter gossip is not always treated casually in Hogsmeade.'

Hermione felt a wave of relief wash over her. She looked up, and met Snape's gaze and to her surprise, there was a lot more understanding in it than she had expected. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, not trusting the words that would spill out of her mouth.

'You can tell me.' said Snape. His voice was almost- _almost _gentle.

Hermione took a deep breath.

'I spoke to Rosmerta this morning.'

Snape lifted an eyebrow. 'Ah,' he said, 'Madam Rosmerta. A charming woman, if slightly preoccupied with the essential functioning of the lives of people around her. Did she have anything interesting to say?'

'She said that- that your work was being inspected,' Hermione blurted out. 'By Ministry officials.'

Snape tutted. He looked slightly annoyed. 'She's losing her touch,' he said, a trifle bitterly. Then, his face cleared, and he added, 'The Ministry officials have not been permitted to inspect my work, and I have no intention of letting them do so.'

Hermione frowned. 'Surely that's not your choice?'

'You would be surprised, Miss Granger, at how the functioning of the Ministry works.'

Again, that same note in his voice. Hermione felt a frisson of surprise. It had an untoward gentleness to it, but not in a comforting way. Rather, it was as though we was trying to let her down lightly.

Which, she reasoned, was comforting enough for Snape.

She decided to break the silence that was beginning to develope between them.

'Why are you not telling me about your research?' she asked. 'I suspect you know I'm going to sign the bond anyway.'

The quirk returned. His eyes glimmered slightly, and he leaned forward over his steepled fingers.

'I beg to differ,' he said, every word seeming to be pregant with meaning. 'I do not know that you are going to sign the bond anyway. And I'd choose not to believe that.' He saw her confused expression, and then said, 'Think, Miss Granger. It's not very difficult. Think for a moment about what you are doing, before signing the bond.'

'I already have.'

'Not enough. I'm not asking you to ponder, I'm asking you to think.'

'Aren't they the same thing?'

'In nature, maybe, but not in terms of quality. I'd like to believe that thinking is a sharper, and more defined process. Blindly agreeing to sign the bond would be a blunder on your behalf.'

Hermione frowned. 'Are you- are you telling me not to sign the bond?'

'Nothing of the sort, if only you would listen. I'm telling you to measure the consequences and decide for yourself.'

'And you will not tell me about your research before hand?'

'I believe,' said Snape, quietly, 'That you already know the answer to that question.'

* * *

'-won't even allow us!' said the man with the gingery beard, spitefully.

Rosmerta, who was perched on the edge of the three-legged stool, stiffened. The malice in his tone touched her ears in the raw.

'I don't understand,' said the second man, a trifle petulantly, 'Why we aren't allowed to operate in our official capacity.'

'I've explained this a thousand times,' said Ginger Beard, with disgust. 'Why do you make me repeat myself?'

Rosmerta gently pressed her extension of the Ear deeper into the side of her head. Their voices were faint and muffled through the table under which the Ear nestled, and yet she could clearly pick up the agitation with which they were speaking. She bit her lip as they continued.

'-you came with Evans last Friday,' said the second man.

Ginger Beard made a noise that could qualify as both a snort and a grunt.

'Inspect might be putting it a trifle too strongly. He wouldn't even let us in!'

Rosmerta's ears perked up.

'Why didn't you show him your badge?'

'It only made things worse.'

She could practically taste Ginger Beard's confusion through the Ear. He seemed nonplussed.

'I don't understand.' he said, finally.

Rosmerta rolled her eyes. Big surprise.

'Neither could I,' said the second man, 'But it seemed to make a lot of sense of Evans. He went deathly white, and stuttered a good bye, and the next thing I knew we were out of there.'

There was a brief silence, and then Ginger Beard said, 'Do you think- do you think it has anything to do with Montrier?'

Rosmerta inhaled sharply. The second man was silent for a moment, and then said, 'Could be.'

'I'm asking because- well, because Evans is damn close to him.'

'A bit too close, maybe.'

'That's a matter of opinion. We could still use it to our advantage.'

'You couldn't do anything.'

'You could, though, couldn't you?'

There was a brief silence.

Then-

'For now, I'm choosing not to. Just focus on Snape.'

* * *

She thought about it.

She truly did.

But at heart, she realized, she had already made up her mind. The contemplative look that crossed her face was simply a charade to keep Snape from baiting and mocking her some more. When she felt that an adequate amount of time had passed, she looked up, and said, firmly,

'I'll sign the bond.'

* * *

**Author's Note: I know, a litte confusing, and as usual, a little fragmented. I don't know what it is with me, but all my chapters are coming out in bits and pieces now. Anyway, a lot of the loose ends in this chapter will be tied up in the next one, so while I'm doing all that tying and knotting, why don't you leave me a little review to cheer me up?**

**=D**


	6. Clauses and Interviews

CHAPTER 6

'The variables,' said Snape.

Hermione blinked. Of course. She had completely forgotten them. And from the distinctive tilt of Snape's eyebrow, she was certain he had recognised her blunder. She felt herself flush, and mentally cursed herself.

'Could you tell them to me, please,' she said, forcing her voice into a modicum of civility.

Snape leaned back on his chair, and inclined his head slightly to one side. Somehow, it provided her a vantage position to see the lines under his eyes, and the tiredness in them, and she briefly bit her lip. He looked like hell, she realized. Whatever it was he was doing with all those potions, it was wreaking havoc with him.

'Most would think, Miss Granger,' said Snape, quietly. 'That variables such as time and location would have an impact on a desicion one takes as to an Apprenticeship.'

'Maybe,' she countered, immediately. 'But I'm not a vaguely-referred-to third person, am I?'

His eyebrows shot up. 'Explain?'

'I don't mean to sound overly complimentary, but I don't think they would make a difference when it came to working with you. I know you're a very talented Potions Master, and any inconvenience that these- variables may cause, would be worth it.'

'Ah,' said Snape, 'And why do you not mean to sound overly complimentary?'

'Because I don't think you would like it.' Hermione said, bluntly.

Snape was silent for a moment, and then nodded. His hands, which were splayed across the sheaf of parchments, twitched a little.

'Alright, Miss Granger,' he said, in what sounded like a more subdued tone. Hermione smiled to herself. One point to her, though she didn't really understand how she had earned it.

Snape said, abruptly, 'I would propose a duration of nine months until the termination of this appointment. As you know, the Clause of Silence extends to beyond that, which means that even after leaving my mentorship you cannot divulge information as to my research.'

'I won't.' said Hermione.

'Secondly, we will be working at Hogwarts.'

Hermione's eyes widened momentarily. This was a complication she had not forseen.

'Do you think it's possible for me to work on a day-scholar basis?' she asked. 'I could apparate here and back every morning and night.'

A glimmer of amusement flickered over Snape's face.

'Am I to take it that you are not interested in returning to your former school?' he asked, softly.

She shook her head.

'I have an apartment in London, and my lease extends for another year. I don't want to have to pay rent for nothing.'

He nodded. 'Mundane, but thought out. You're getting better at this, Granger.'

She flushed. 'I'm not all impulsive, stupid actions, you know.'

To her surprise, he nodded. 'You're right.' he said. 'You aren't. You have a lot of potential, Miss Granger- and don't smirk discreetly, I can see that- but you simply have to train yourself properly. Following a path of reasoning- which, if you recall, we just spoke about- would do wonders to your capabilities.'

Hermione tried not to preen.

'That is, of course, if it would only worm its way around that stubborness which is so inherent to all Gryffindors.'

The smug expression on her face slid off, and her eyes widened.

'Stuborness?' she asked, her voice raising a few octaves in tone. 'What do you mean, stubborness?'

Snape merely looked bored. 'Do the variable terms agree with you, then? Because if so, you might sign the bond.'

Apparently, her question was not worse answering. Oh, pardon her, _guiding to an answer. _

Hermione rolled her eyes mentally. _This_, she told herself, _is what working with Snape is going to be like. Constant teasing. Perpetual jibing. Living hell._

She looked up at it, and nodded slowly.

Snape pulled open another drawer of his desk, and pulled out a tightly rolled scroll, with a glossy brick-red seal on it. He broke the seal, and unravelled it gently, before pushing it across the table to her. Taking it up in her hands, Hermione read through it.

_I, Hermione Jean Granger, pledge myself, for the fixed duration of nine months, to the researches carried out by Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts, with the aim of bettering both my understanding, and his application, in an Academic Sense. I hereby swear to not confide in any other being, human or half-breed, as to the precise nature of his researches, in any conditions, prevailing upon the termination of the Apprenticeship also._

'A quill,' said Snape. He held out a black, ruffled plume, and Hermione took it in her hands, feeling a shiver of apprehension tremble down her spine.

Rosmerta's words came back to her. She remembered Harry's warning. This was too risky. She really shouldn't be doing this.

With a deep breath, she signed her name with a flourish and then set the quill down.

Snape's eyes glowed, softly.

'Very good, Miss Granger,' he said, and then added that rare quirk of his mouth that she had realized was part-smile.

* * *

'Harry, Mr. Everard wants to see you.'

Harry glanced up from the register he was working on, and blinked. His secretary, Mimi, was perched at the corner of his office with her head sticking in the door. She looked a little nervous.

'Everard?' he echoed, a little dumbly.

'Yes. He wants you in his office in five minutes.'

'I thought Everard was out of town.'

Mimi bit her lip. 'I think he got back yesterday. He doesn't seem to be in a good mood, though.'

Harry sighed. 'Oh, well. I suppose the List will have to wait. Can you memo him and tell him I'll be there in five minutes?'

'Sure thing, Harry. Oh, and also, Mr. Weasley wanted to meet you for tea. Shall I send him up to your office?'

'Is he downstairs now?'

'I think so.'

'Then send him up,' said Harry, firmly. 'I want to talk to him for a moment before seeing Everard.'

Mimi nodded, and then withdrew. Harry closed the register in front of him and leaned back in his swivel chair, biting his lower lip contemplatively. A few moments later, Ron, who was wearing a bright blue cloak walked into the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Harry did not waste any time.

'Everard's back in town,' he said, abruptly. 'And he wants to meet me in a few minutes.'

Ron's eyes widened.

'When did he get back?'

'Mimi thinks it was yesterday, but I don't think she's very sure. What do you make of all this?'

Ron frowned. Walking to the desk, he took off his cloak and draped it over the back of the chair.

'What do I make of it? The same thing everyone else in this Department does, of course. Everard is in some kind of trouble.'

'Why would you think that?' asked Harry, standing up and bracing himself against the desk. He frowned, and added, 'It could just be an assignment.'

'If it were an assignment, he would have had to record details of his travel in the log,' Ron said, firmly. 'He just told his secretary he would be gone for a while and took off. Doesn't seem very professional to me.'

'And yet,' mused Harry, 'Look at this.'

He flipped open the register that he had been perusing, and scanned the page, running a finger along the titles.

Ron frowned. 'What the hell is that?'

'The Accounts List. Look here- this was the day that Everard left, wasn't it?'

'That's right.'

'Well, the morning of the next day, he put in a request from Hogsmeade for a despatch of five hundred galleons.'

'Despatch?'

'From the Department Treasury. As Head he's allowed to do that, of course. If he's withdrawing from the Treasury, that would mean it's official business, right?'

Ron shrugged. 'Might not be. I don't think Everard would have any scruples about digging his fingers into the gold for a new set of robes, or something.'

Harry's eyes flashed. 'Ron, that's stealing!'

'Oh, get real. This is Everard we're talking about. Giving him access to the Department Treasury is like inviting a fox into a chicken coop. By the way- you might be interested to know, but Jon DuMaurier from my section also took off work when Everard did.'

'Jon DuMaurier?' asked Harry, with a frown.

'The pale guy with the reddish beard. Bit of a creep. I don't know if it's connected in any way, but he isn't back yet.'

Harry sighed.

'Do you realize that Everard put in the request from Hogsmeade?'

'Clearly.'

'Do you think it's possible that- that-'

'That he had business in Hogwarts? Seems like that, doesn't it? After all, what else is there in Hogsmeade to attract Ministry attention?'

Harry shrugged helplessly. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'Seems strange, though. What would the Ministry want with Hogwarts?'

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long. I was actually pretty confused about how to take it from the previous one. If you want my honest opinion, I have a feeling I have bitten off a bit more than I can chew with this story. Originally, it was going to just revolve around Severus's and Hermione's relationship, but apparently when I write my brain functions of its own accord, and now I'm sort of trying something a little different (which I'm pretty sure I haven't really understood yet, so I don't blame you if you don't.)**

**Keep your fingers crossed. It just might work out, you know =D**


	7. Backrooms and Salad

**CHAPTER 7**

As Hermione stepped into the Three Broomsticks, later in the afternoon, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.

The little pub was more crowded than it had been that morning. Witches and wizards were clustered at the table, and lunch-time chatter filled the room. She chose a table at the back of the retsurant, under a shady alcove, and put her handbag on the chair opposite her. Leaning forward, she cupped her chin in her palms and her mind drifted to the conversation she had had with Snape.

Well, she mused, there was no point in wondering now, really. She had already signed the bond, and whatever it was Snape was doing, she was bound to him for the next nine months. She bit her lip as she remembered the potions she had seen in his classroom earlier that morning. She had asked him, after signing the bond, whether he would tell her what his research was about, but he had simply waved his hand dismissively.

'All in good time, Miss Granger,' he said, his gaze fixed on something a little above her left shoulder. 'First, your training must begin.'

Hermione frowned. 'My training?'

'That's right.'

'But- but I've already had training,' Hermione protested. 'I've passed the exam, haven't I?'

Snape's eyes lifted to the heavens, and he assumed a long-suffering expression.

'You have relapsed,' he said, wearily. 'This is going to be more difficult than I had assumed.'

Hermione clucked indignantly, but Snape chose to ignore her.

'Think,' he urged, and Hermione resisted the urge to catch up a jar of something pickled and fling it at him. For the first time in her life, she thought mutinously that she was sick and tired of thinking. But one look at Snape's encouraging expression (Really, she wondered, when had he become encouraging?) told her that such a statement would get her nowhere.

So instead, she thought.

'I have already had training,' she stated. She had noticed that this was how Snape chose to guide her. He prompted her to begin at the most basic level, and then question the statements she made.

'That's right,' he agreed, 'On what?'

'Apprenticeship,' said Hermione, with a puzzled frown. She couldn't see the catch, yet.

Snape nodded. 'Can you give me a brief outline of what you have learnt?'

_That is going to take way too much time. _

As if reading her mind, Snape said, 'I don't want a copy of your syllabus, Miss Granger. Surely you can understand that.'

_Skills, _thought Hermione. She voiced her opinion tentatively.

'Do you want to know what skills I have garnered?'

Snape's eyes lit up, and he observed her approvingly. Immediately, she knew that she had hit the mark.

'Go on, Miss Granger,' he said, slowly.

'I've learnt the art of following instructions, and I've learnt how to use judgement in the process of making a potion.' she said. 'Or at least, I'm going to.'

Snape nodded. He looked pleased.

'You realize now, that is all you have learnt? The rest have been nothing but words, jumbles of sentences that are instructive more than analytic.'

'But wouldn't my apprenticeship also be instructive to a degree?' asked Hermione, with a frown.

'To a degree, yes,' said Snape, watching her closely.

'Is that the objective of this training that you're talking about?'

Snape sighed loudly. He got up from his chair, and crossed around to the front of his desk. Leaning back against it, and bracing his legs against the floor, he said, 'Let me be honest with you, Miss Granger.'

Hermione blinked, and bit back the urge to tell him that that had been the idea all along.

'You are not stupid, I will confess that much.'

_Don't make me blush. _

'You would have understood by now- probably much boosted by Rosmerta's gentle warnings- that my research is off a somewhat dubious nature. Not,' he added, hurridely, a slightly defensive stance creeping into his posture- 'That it has small chances of succeeded academically. What I mean is, with the Ministry suddenly becoming stringent about-' he shuddered- '_morals_, there will, no doubt, be some amount of protest against this research. _As is the case_, and in interest of your academic- shall we day, shortcomings?- I would like to put you through a training before we begin.'

Hermione choked. She had been doing so through a greater part of his speech, but the last sentence had specially irked her. Snape watched, an expression of bemusement spreading across his pale face, as she held up a hand.

'Just one moment,' she said.

Snape nodded courteously.

'Are you trying to tell me that your research is immoral?' she asked, in a thick whisper.

Snape rolled his eyes. 'Good heavens, Miss Granger, _this is not a fairytale. _There is no right and wrong.'

Hermione frowned.

'How can you say something like that?' she protested. 'Of course there's right and wrong!'

'I'm not doubting _that,' _Snape said, in a bored voice. 'But very often, both right and wrong come together. I do not believe that there is any person who is fully good, or fully evil.'

'What about Voldemort?' Hermione challenged. 'He was fully evil, wasn't he?'

A strange expression crossed Snape's face. It wasn't the flinch that she had expected. It was something more- well, indefinable.

'We will come back to that later,' Snape said, thickly. His face suddenly hardened, the corners of his mouth setitng themselves into a rigid line.

Hermione frowned. 'And then there's Harry,' she said. 'He's fully good, isn't he?'

'Don't _even_ get me started on that, Miss Granger. I am not here to discuss with you matters of good and evil.'

'We were talking about morals,' Hermione pointed out.

'I believe they are one and the same.'

Sitting at the Three Broomsticks now, Hermione once again felt the tingle of unease that had seared up her spine at that meeting. She wasn't entirely sure what set if off. After all, she couldn't pretend that she had ever expected Snape to be a _moral_ man, in the traditional usage of the word. No. She shook her head- It was something else.

She started as a hand suddenly dropped down to the table beside her, and looked up to see Rosmerta, balancing a tray in her other hand and looking down at her with concern.

'Back so soon?' she asked.

'My interview's over.'

'I hope it went well.'

'I-' Hermione broke off. 'I think so.'

Rosmerta cast her a sympathetic glance, and then looked around furtively before leaning down and whispering, 'I want to talk to you. Can you come with me to the backroom?'

Hermione's eyes widened, and then she groaned mentally. Oh, great. More gossip. Just what she needed when she was already feeling so uneasy about this.

'Rosmerta, I don't think I-'

'Trust me. You want to hear this.'

Rosmerta straightened up, winked extravagantly at her, and then walked away, saying, loudly, 'Of course, Hermione, I'll just get you some coffee from the _backroom_.'

Hermione sighed, and buried her head in her hands. She could not go, she mused. She could get up, remind Rosmerta that the backroom only had supplies, and coffee was essentially not a supply, and then walk out of here. She would be blissfully ignorant. Happily none-the-wiser.

'Oh, come on,' she muttered, 'Who are you kidding?'

* * *

Kenneth Everard, Sub-Head of the Auror Department was a tall, gaunt man, with a pale face and a shock of dark hair. He wore narrow black-rimmed spectacles, a perpetually shrewd expression, and a thick gold ring on his left hand. He was sitting stiffly behind his desk, hunched over a stack of files and leafing through them. He was dressed in a pale blue suit, an old-fashioned watch-chain dangling conspiculously from his pocket. He looked up as Harry entered the room and offered a brief smile. His travelling cloak hung on the chair behind him.

'Harry,' he said, in an economical voice. 'Come in. Nice day.'

Harry nodded, and carefully took the seat facing the desk. Everard, he thought, looked decidedly harrowed. Large circles spanned his eyes, and a frown marred his forehead.

'You wanted to see me, sir?' he asked, keeping his tone politely respectful.

'That's right.' agreed Everard. He closed the top-most file on his desk, and pushed it away. 'I wanted to talk to you about some matters. We seem to have a slight- er- complication.'

Harry raised an eyebrow and inclined his head.

'Is there a serious problem?' he asked. He knew better than to push for details immediately. Everard was a fiercely private man, keeping everything he potentially could to himself.

'There seems to be.' said Everard, in a neutral voice. He paused for a moment, and then said, 'I'm not going to lie to you Harry. I need your help. But this assignment is, shall we say- delicate?- and I need your word that you will not tell anybody about it.'

Harry frowned. 'Anybody?' he repeated, doubtfully. 'You mean- even someone in the Auror Dep?'

'That's right.' Everard nodded. He looked a little displeased, as though he hadn't expected Harry to kick up a fuss.

'Well,' said Harry, hesitantly. 'I can't promise you that I won't tell _anyone_. But I can promise you that I'll only repeat what you tell me if I believe it'll help us in any way.' He incorporated the _us_ seamlessly into his sentence, although in reality he didn't mean anything more than a _me, and only me. _

Somehow, he didn't think that would go down too well with his boss.

Everard puckered his thin mouth for a moment, and then bit down on his lower lip and nodded.

'Very well,' he said, finally. 'Remember, Harry, that I am putting my trust in you. Do not abuse it.'

'I won't,' said Harry, smoothly. 'What's the problem?'

For a moment, Everard looked a little taken aback by his frontness. Then, he said, 'A week or ago, I travelled with Maurice Evans to Hogwarts.'

Harry blinked. The surprise was two-fold. Firstly, Maurice Evans was the head of the department: Everard's boss, and generally not involved in field assignments. If Evens was actually personally following up on this case, it had to be something serious.

Secondly, the mention of Hogwarts caused something to settle painfully in his stomach. He didn't like the idea of the department messing around in Hogwarts. He knew- personally- what Aurors were capable of, their ruthlessness and sometimes, even their blatant disregard of common feelings like empathy, and the thought of a bunch of them invading Hogwarts' peaceful walls made him feel sick. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

'What's happening at Hogwarts?' he asked.

Everard frowned. 'Frankly, nothing concrete. It's just a simple matter, but we are beginning to grow concerned about it.'

Harry repeated: 'What's happening at Hogwarts?'

Everard looked disapproving. 'You know, don't you, that the Ministry prefers to keep monthly tabs on the school? Every teacher is required to provide a report of their teaching material.'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Well- when it comes to a subject like- say, Potions- the Ministry supplies the school with just enough ingredients and raw materials as per the course outlined by the teacher in his report.'

'I know that as well.' Harry said, evenly.

'For the last few months, Severus Snape has been exhausting his supply of common ingredients much more quickly than his teaching agenda envisions.'

Harry blinked. 'What?' he said. 'That's it? So he had some careless students who blew up their potions. It happens all the time in class!'

Everard sighed. 'It's not just that.' he said. 'We got a little curious at the rate at which he was ploughing through his ingredients, so we kept an eye on him- so to say. He has also been visiting Knockturn Alley on a regular basis, and has been purchasing other ingredients- ones he didn't care to include in his report- which are of slightly dubious nature. Well, naturally the Ministry has a duty to look into the safety of the children of the school-'

'Naturally,' muttered Harry, vividly envisioning Umbridge.

'When asked about his- extracurricular activities, Snape said that he was undertaking research.'

'And why is that a big deal?' asked Harry, hurriedly adding- 'Sir?'

'It is a big deal, Harry, because he refuses to submit a report dealing with his research. We are quite within our jurisdiction when we ask him to do so- or at least, the education department is. But Snape refused to do that, so we were looped in to inspect his work.'

Harry winced.

'Inspect _Snape's_ work?' he repeated. 'Impossible.'

Everard looked grim. 'That's what _he_ said. Maurice Evans came with me, because he was very worried about it. Snape is not exactly in the Ministry's good books, you know. But Snape simple wouldn't let us in.'

Harry frowned. 'Wait a minute. Snape said no?'

'That's right.'

'And Evans was _okay_ with that?'

Everard frowned deeply. His gaze flickered to the door momentarily, and he leaned forwards on his desk.

'That's the thing.' he said, heavily. 'I'm not very sure what happened, really. But Snape said something very curious, and Evans immediately shut up and said we could see ourselves out.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'Just how curious?' he asked.

Everard sighed, and then repeated, in a dull voice. '_I think, Maurice, that you of all people would know not to bother me when I'm at work. My potions may be the future, you know. Ventures like this won't always be illegal. Things are changing as we speak, and you know it._' He sighed. 'Make any sense of it?'

Harry had flipped open a pad from his pocket and quickly scribbled the words down. He read through them again.

'No.' he said. 'But then nothing Snape said ever made sense to me.'

'Well, it made plenty sense to Evans.' said Everard. 'We were out of there before I could say Jack Robinson. I went down their again today, with DuMaurier- do you know him? Tall chap, reddish beard- but apparently, Snape wasn't even in. His office and classroom were locked, and the gargoyle outside the private chambers told us- quite rudely, I might add- that he had chosen to abscond temporarily. Well, we came back, but our problem hasn't been solved.'

'Let me get this straight,' Harry said slowly. 'You suspect Snape is up to something illegal because he isn't filing reports and because he's buying shady stuff. And he won't let you inspect.'

'That's right.'

'And he knows something about Evans- or about someone Evans' knows- that could prevent Evans from forcing an inspection.'

'Yes.'

'So- we're going to be in this alone?' Harry asked, incredulously. 'I'm assuming Evan's doesn't know about this.'

'He told me to the close the case.' Everard said, soberly.

'But you're not going to?'

'I'm not going to.'

Harry frowned.

'Fine.' he said. 'I'm in with you. Just one more thing, though. Why did you charge the expense account five hundred galleons, today?'

* * *

Hermione unlocked her flat door and walked in, closing it behind her with a sigh.

It was barely noon, and she was already dead on her feet. She slipped out of the painful heels and padded to her kitchen. Rummaging through drawers for a kettle and milk, her mind roved back to the snatchets of information Rosmerta had relayed to her.

So Snape was in trouble with the Ministry.

Big surprise.

Really, she though, setting the kettle to boil, she wasn't that surprised. Hadn't she surmised as much that morning? It only amplified her growning suspicion that she had not known what she was getting into when she signed that bond.

Which was precisely what Snape wanted, she finished.

Spooning extra tea into the boiling water, she stirred it until it turned rich and dark, and then added cream and sugar. She drank her tea very white and sweet, almost overboiled. Pouring it into large, yellow mug, she walked over to the sofa, playing with the hem of her shirt as she did so. The words- roughly scrawled, and unwashable- on her stomach gleamed out to her, and she groaned.

_Alright, _instructed herself. _Think. What to do now?_

_Firstly, talk to Harry and Ron. If something's going on at the Ministry, they might now._

_Secondly, try to figure out what exactly you saw in that classroom today._

She pondered over these two, and then picking the easiest one, she picked up her cellphone and dialed Ron's number.

He picked up on the first ring.

'Hello?' Thankfully, he had outgrown the habit of screeching down the line.

'Need to talk.' said Hermione, who was feeling economic with words today. She rummaged in her bag for a cigarette and lit it.

There was a pause.

'Harry's in a private meeting with Everard.'

'Is that bad?'

'Just strange. Not sure what's going on.'

'Can you make it to my place for lunch? I'll handle the food.'

Another pause.

'Sure.' said Ron, 'As soon as Harry's done. You were at Hogwarts today, weren't you?'

'You know I was. Why?'

'Because then, this "I-need-to-talk" thing can go both ways.'

He hung up.

Hermione frowned and shook her head, as she headed to her kitchen and pulled out pre-chopped vegetables stored in quick wrap. She tossed them in dressing and dumped them into a big bowl, stacked a platter with sheaves of pita bread, and pulled out a jar of factory-made humus. She bunged the stuff in the fridge to cool, and then hunted around for a bottle of wine, choosing Ron's favorite Chardonnay, though she preferred red. She pulled out wine-glasses, biting her lip musingly as she did so. She had just set the table when- with a loud crack- both boys apparated into her dining room.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry, I know it's been a while. I have no excuses, except college starting and me pretending to study all the time. It took me a while to figure out where this story was going, as well, but I have a decently somewhat-sketchy idea now. Not very assuring, I know, but trust me, I'm going to work on updating quicker.**

**Thanks to everyone who updated, you know how much it means to me (even if it isn't complimentary. I'm not going to pretend I love bad reviews, but they help, in a sensible, grown-up sort of way).**

**Next chapter soon, hopefully. =D**


	8. Cloaks and Librarians

**CHAPTER 8**

'He didn't?' Ron demanded, explosively. 'What do you mean, he didn't?'

Harry frowned. 'Exactly that.' he clarified. 'I asked him quite specifically why he withdrew the money, and he denied it. He seemed quite surprised, by the whole thing. Five hundred galleons isn't a petty sum, after all.'

Hermione looked perplexed. 'But the withdrawal was in his name, wasn't it?' she asked.

'That's right. That's why I was so sure. But he said quite firmly that he hadn't drawn out any money today.'

'He's lying.' said Ron, positively. 'The stinking slimeball.'

Harry sighed, and spooned some salad onto his flat, ceramic plate. He was quiet for a few moments, chewing a piece of tomato, and then said, 'Ron, I really don't think he was. That's the problem. He was geniunely astonished when I asked him. And I don't see why he would have to withdraw the money either. From what he says, he couldn't even find Snape yesterday, which means that he didn't really have any work to do.'

'From what he says,' Ron said, darkly. 'He could easily have been embezzling, you know.'

Hermione bit into a stalk of celery.

'If that's the case, it's the stupidest example of embezzling I've ever seen.' she said, frowning. 'After all, his name popped up on the register, didn't it?'

'Everard isn't a stupid man,' said Harry, firmly, 'If he wanted to embezzle funds, none of us would have had a clue about it. No- this doesn't seem to be him at all. Besides, there's the fact that Maurice actually _listened_ to Snape when he told them to fuck off. That doesn't sound like him. He's a very pushy man.'

'Not to mentioned powerful,' added Ron. 'Maurice could crush Snape under his pinky finger, if he wanted to. He's got the right contacts.'

The lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Ron picked up the spoon from the hummus serving dish and licked thoughtfully at it. Finally, he said, 'How come Everard couldn't find Snape? Didn't you speak to him just this morning?'

Hermione nodded. 'He must have come in after me. Rosmerta saw him the red beard guy- DuMaurier- after I had left for the castle.'

'Which meant that after speaking to you, Snape went out.' Harry mused. His knuckles had tightened, his face looked drawn and alert. Hermione recognised the expression. It was one he wore whenever he was working on an especially difficult case. Something clenched in her gut, as she realized what she was up against and she paled for a moment.

'Did Snape mentioned anything about it to you?' asked Harry, turning to face her. His eyes were hard. Hermione swallowed, trying to quash the sudden fear that was growing in her belly. It was, after all, nothing definite- just a sharp sense of intuition.'

'No,' she muttered, brushing a sweep of hair off her face, 'We haven't reached the level where we chat about after-work plans.'

Ron snorted with laughter, but Harry remained quiet. Hermione sipped nervously at her wine, and then said, 'Harry- what exactly is the department planning to do next?'

From the easy way in which Harry spoke, she realized that he hadn't yet thought about the same facts that were troubling her.

'I'm not sure. I'm going to meet Everard tomorrow, and probably DuMaurier, and we'll discuss it. Are you going to Hogwarts tomorrow?'

Hermione nodded. 'It's my first official day. I'll be there till night.'

Ron finished licking the spoon and glanced at his watch.

'We'll have to leave in a few minutes.' he said. 'Come on- we'll help you clear up.'

They picked up the dishes and glasses silently, moving into the kitchen and stacking them by the sink. Hermione would wash them later. Right now, she was lost in a flurry of thoughts that were disconcerting to the extreme. Ron, meanwhile, had rinsed out the empty wine bottle and was drying it with a quick spell.

'I still don't get,' he said, after a few minutes, 'Why Maurice Evans would let Snape bully him around so much. The man's a legend. And he's in very close with the Minister- rumor has it that Montrier and him go golfing every Saturday.'

Hermione emptied the hummus dish into the dustbin and set it with the plates. She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.

'Maybe,' she said, 'That's the exact point.'

And meeting Harry's gaze over Ron's oblivious shoulder, she saw from his stormy eyes that he was thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

The library was musty and old, filled with books that hadn't been touched for years and were simply gathering dust on their ornately carved shelves. The room was wide, spanning the area of three apartments on the floor below it, and carpeted in something brown and soft that rose intimidatingly around Hermione's ankles when she stepped into it. Although the small circular tables at the far end of the room were supplied with quaint table lamps, the bookshelves weren't. Thin beams of light filtered through an attic-style window, framed in wrought-iron and settled disconcertingly on the columns of dust that rose from the floor every time she took a step.

Hermione made her way the front desk, where a scrawny woman in a pale green dress sat. She had a shock of bright red hair that was scraped back into a bun, and cat-winged glasses that exaggerated the effect of her dramatically-lined eyes. She offered a shy smile.

'Can I help you?'

'Yes, please. I was looking for books that dealt with potions.'

The librarian frowned, and removed her glasses. They dangled from a thin, golden chain, and she wiped them deliberately with a fold of her dress. 'That's a very broad subject, you know. We have thousands of books on potions. If you have anything more specific in mind-?'

Hermione swallowed. 'Well, the potions I want to research are a little- unorthodox. You know, the type that would have human blood in them.'

The librarian's eyes narrowed slightly and she puckered her mouth. 'Human blood?

'I- I'm a potions apprentice,' Hermione said, hurriedly, seeing the suspicion that was beginning to dawn on the librarian's face. 'It's to do with my research.'

The librarian's brows cleared, and she said, 'Of course, then, that's alright. Come with me, I'll show you which books might be helpful.'

She led Hermione through a maze of shelves, walking deliberately. She was clearly familiar with every nook and cranny of this room. Looking around, Hermione thought how lucky she had been to find this place. It was built into the loft of an old building that edged into the Thames, and was clearly very, very old- much more supplied than the one at Hogwarts, and devoid of any restricted sections.

'Here you go,' said the librarian, gesturing to a shelf. It was neatly labeled, _Dark Potions. _

'Thank you,' said Hermione, who had already taken a few steps forward, and was scanning the titles.

The librarian eyed her speculatively. 'I'll be at my desk,' she said, finally, 'If you need anything, let me know.'

Hermione didn't even reply. She had pulled out a book labeled _Potions of the Dark Ages and Beyond_ and tucked it under her arm.

About fifteen minutes later, she had a neat stack of books, and made her way to one of the circular tables. The lamp flickered to life as she did so. Unloading her loot onto the neat circle of light it threw on the wooden surface, she took a seat and opened the first one.

Her logic had been simple. There was no turning back now that she had signed the bond- and if she were to be honest with herself, she didn't know if she would turn back even if she could- but she wasn't simply going to hang around and wait for Snape to condescend to tell her what she had just dedicated the next nine months of her life to. She had briefly considered tying him up and force-feeding Veritaserum, but the teacher's-pet (and commonsensical) part of her quashed that idea in a moment, and instead she had taken herself to the one place she felt comfortable and omni-potent: the library. Since she had been entirely sure that the potions she had seen in the classroom were a part of his research, and that the little cup had been filled with human blood, she had refined her search to potions that carried only those.

The first few were trivial. They were impersonating potions, much like Polyjuice, but weaker. They contained blood instead of hair, and as a result were less potent. Magic, Hermione remembered reading, was stored in the essence of being. Blood was simply the life of that essence.

She flipped a few more pages. None of the potions described seemed to be what she had seen. On the whole, the addition of blood to a potion seemed to make it roil and red. This matched somewhat to the first potion she had seen, which she remembered to have been an aggressive violet-ish color. But the second and third potion had been calmer, the third positively deathly. Was blood not added in all of them, then?

She went through her entire stack of books, but when she closed the final one, her expression was dejected. Plenty of potions seemed to have blood in problem was, none of them really fit her criteria.

With a little huff, she got up and replaced the books. As she made her way out of the library, she caught the eye of the lady behind the desk.

'Found what you were looking for?' she asked.

'Not really,' replied Hermione. 'I'll be back, though.'

The librarian offered her a genuine smile.

Outside the library, her feeling of despondency slowly gave way, and was replaced by a sudden burst of energy. An uncharacteristically cold, misty drizzle was fogging up the air, and the ends of her hair were glimmering with droplets of water. She cinched her black coat tight around her waist, and pulled out a black and gray checked scarf, which she knotted methodically around her throat. Jamming her hands into her pockets she began striding down the river side. She felt as though she had drunk half a million mental coffees: her mind was on an overdrive, swinging like a pendulum from Snape, to the potions she had seen at Hogwarts, to the auror department, and back to Snape.

'Miserable, secretive bastard,' she muttered. She considered lighting a cigarette, and then thought against it. Instead, another idea began to form in her head: ridiculous and a little risky, but glorious with its prospective consequences. She could do it, couldn't she? She frowned and thought over it for a while, coming to the conclusion that there really wasn't any reason why she _couldn't_ do it. But it would mean talking to Harry first.

Or not.

She was standing beside a small shack, with a sea view and a tightly shut door. A small sign pinned to it informed her of its true nature.

_Apparition Portal._

With a sudden burst of energy, she stepped inside, reached into her coat pocket and gripped her wand. Concentrating, she apparated to the set of apartments in which Harry had taken a temporary lease. She flashed a smile to the doorman, who knew her well and returned one, and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Coming to flat 503, she rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a small key on a Christmas tree chain, which she fit neatly into the lock. The door swung open, and stepped inside, snicking it shut behind her.

'Thank the gods for extra keys,' she murmured, fervently. She wasn't in the frame of mind to deal with Harry right now, not after the very uncomfortable revelation she had chanced upon during lunch. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before Harry would cotton on and realize what she had.

_Tonight,_ she promised herself, _You can worry about that tonight. For now, just focus._

The windows were shuttered, so she groped about in the dark until she found the light switch and flicked it on. The living room was small, sparsely but brightly furnished, with a pink and orange checked rug of doubtful Indian origins, and a hand-painted lampshade. She headed towards his bedroom, which predictably looked as though a maelstrom had produced several babies within it. Picking her way carefully through the ankle-deep flood of clothes, books, opened packets of biscuits, apple cores, cigarette butts, bottle caps, pencils and the occasional lighter, she got to his closet and wrenched it open. On the top most shelf, nestled almost-hidden behind a pile of brown fleece jackets was a dark red box.

Hermione pulled the box down, and closed the closet door. Balancing it against the length of one arm, she opened it with her other hand, and pulled aside the folds of tissue paper wrapped protectively about its length. Her fingers fell on something soft and light, and a metallic sparkle caught her eye. She groped amongst the tissues for a moment, and then the box was discarded and Harry's Invisibility Cloak dangled from her hands.

It had been years, she knew, since Harry had used that Cloak. He claimed he had no more use for it, and so he had kept it tucked away since they graduated behind the ugliest items of clothing he owned. But there was no way she was going to accomplish what she wanted to if she didn't have the cloak.

She hastily penned a short note to Harry, impersonal and crisp, and informed him that she would be returning it shortly, and slipped the Cloak into her handbag. She knew that he would be curious, but she wasn't sure whether or not she ought to tell him what she had in mind.

She left the apartment, careful to the lock door behind her, and smiled automatically when the doorman winked cheerfully at her. The nearest Apparition Point was a disused subway just down the road. It's entry was shut, and all Muggles who passed by would see a rusty silver lock and bolt combination drawn across it. Hermione, however, simply lifted the bolt and slid it away. She stepped into the subway, and rummaged in her pocket for her wand.

It was difficult to concentrate in the darkness, with what felt suspiciously like sewage dripping onto her shoulder, but Hermione closed her eyes (not that it made much of a difference) and gripped the length of her wand tightly. A moment of bone-crunching intensity later, she felt the soft trickle of water on her hair and shoulders.

She had chosen not to go to the Three Broomsticks. The last thing she needed now was another "little chat" with Rosmerta. Instead, she apparated to a deserted storehouse adjacent to the Hog's Head. As she righted herself, she felt the tickle of straw at her feet, and glancing up she saw that a whole section of the roof had given way, and the rain was pouring in. Something snorted behind her, and she turned to find herself face-to-face with a bemused looking cow, that was ruminatively chewing at some hay.

A squeaky screak, and ensuing snort of self-disgust later she had left the shed, and was wrapping the Cloak tightly around her body. It wouldn't do to be seen now. She checked to make sure her feet were well-hidden, and then set of down the road that led to Hogwarts. Carefully avoiding the muddy parts, and thanking the gods that she had chosen to wear flats to the library, she went up the same twisted path she had taken the morning.

* * *

'News,' said Ron, with obvious relish.

He had flung open the door to Harry's office, and stood triumphantly at the frame. Harry, who had been carefully perusing a file on Snape's previous reports, glanced up with a bemused expression. He had a smattering of ink on the tip of his nose, and a fleck under his left eye.

'What's up?' he asked. Ron's face was beaming and flushed.

Ron inched into the room and shut the door behind him. He cast a quick Silencing charm, and then said, 'I was just speaking to DuMaurier.'

'And?' Harry put his quill down and rewarded Ron with his full attention.

'And what Everard was saying is the truth. DuMaurier said he was with him the entire morning, and not once did Everard withdraw any money.'

Harry frowned. 'Wait a minute. DuMaurier told you about that? Everard said this was top-secret, and I assumed that we weren't supposed to chat about it with every Tom, Dick and Harry that came our way!'

'May I point out,' said Ron, sanctimoniously, 'That I am neither Tom, Dick, nor Harry, although the same cannot be said for you? Anyway, DuMaurier didn't say in specific where he was. I just mentioned that I had seen a new entry in the register, and he said it couldn't have been Everard because he had been with him all morning.'

Harry frowned.

'Could he be lying?'

'I don't see why.'

'Could Everard have given him the slip?'

'I asked him myself, because I think we both know our friend Kenneth Everard is slippery as an eel rubbed in jelly. But no, DuMaurier said they stuck pretty tight the whole time. Seemed quite confused about it. He said that the entry in the register must have been a mistake.'

Harry frowned. 'So DuMaurier was with Everard the entire time, and didn't see him withdraw money. That's just strange, then. It means Everard was telling the truth.'

'That's right,' said Ron, looking a little crest-fallen. 'I'd love to pin every smidgen of evil in this world onto him, but I don't see how he could have done this. Maybe DuMaurier was right; it could have just been a mistake?'

Harry laughed hollowly. 'A mistake that left us five hundred galleons short.' he corrected. 'Doesn't sound nice, does it? But I suppose that's all we have to go on for now.'

Ron sighed wistfully. His gaze sharpened as he glanced down at Harry's desk.

'Snape's files?'

Harry nodded. 'The old ones. I was just going through them. Nothing much, but I feel better being thorough.'

'Anything to report to Slimeface tomorrow?'

'If you're talking about Everard, no. And I'm not going to. Not for now, at least.'

Ron's eyes narrowed. He looked a little uneasy.

'Harry,' he said, and his tone was suddenly very serious, 'Are you planning on playing a lone hand?'

Harry looked evenly up at him. 'However did you guess?'

Ron blinked. 'You're being a fool. If Everard finds out you're hiding information from him, or doing stuff without his sanction, he will freak. Do you hear me, Harry, he will _freak_.'

Harry sighed, and splayed his hands across the desk. A shadow passed over his face.

'I have a lot of work to do, Ron.' he said, quietly. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

* * *

**Author's Note: And there we are.**

**Few things to report.**

**Firstly, as usual, thank you to everyone who reviewed. I love you. *smile***

**Secondly, I know these first few chapters have been very specific, and although I'm done with eight chapters, only a few days of the story have elapsed. After Hermione's first day at work, time will start spinning a bit more madly, so enjoy the lull while it lasts.**

**Thirdly, I know, no more Snape in this chapter, but he will be back with a loud, dramatic BANG in the next one, and I think a bit sexier since we haven't had him in the last two. Absence does make the heart fonder, no?**

**Fourthly, I've read over this chapter only once, so if there are any spelling mistakes please forgive. I think I can safely say there aren't any grammatical errors. That's one thing I pride myself in.**

**Fifthly, since I just realized Sant actually reads my stories on fanfiction, which I didn't earlier, HI! **

**Okies, then.**

**Till next time. =D**


	9. Railways and Lechers

**CHAPTER 9**

It was past seven by the time Hermione stepped into the Entrance Hall, and the large double doors swung gently shut behind her.

The hall was relatively empty. She knew that most of the students would be in their dormitories now, optimistically surmising that they'd probably be doing their homework. Still, she left the Cloak firmly swathed around her. She didn't want to take the off-chance that a teacher, or maybe a ghost saw her, and then asked Snape the next day what his apprentice had been doing in the school late that evening.

Instead, she turned to her left, and padded down the familiar, dark corridor. It was chillier now, and the water that seeped through the cloak was tingling unpleasantly on her skin. She quickened her step, and in a few minutes she was standing outside Snape's office once again.

She hesitated for a moment, and then reminded herself that she invisible. Taking a few steps forward, she leaned down and pressed her ear against the door.

At first she could hear nothing. Then, a light tap. There was a pause, and then a soft chink, like the kind cutlery would make against a plate, and then silence again.

She heaved a sigh of relief, and lurched back against the opposite wall. He was still in his office, probably taking samples of potions. She knew that when she had been at school, these were the hours of the day he devoted to marking his students samples, and it seemed Snape was a creature- well, man,really- of habit. He'd have to leave his office sometime, though, and all she had to do was wait.

According, she sat down cross legged on the floor, and carefully tucked the clock over her head and under her knees so that she was completely hidden. Leaning forward, she cupped her chin in her hand. To her right and left the dark corridor stretched endlessly. A stiff breeze had begun to blow down its length, and she shivered lightly.

_Trust Snape to breeze up his corridor even when we're indoors and the weather outside is a minus million. _

In the silence of the corridor, she suddenly became aware of a loud, continuous sound. After a moments confusion she realized what it was. Strapped to her wrist was a silver-rimmed watch, with a pale pink leather strap. Harry had given it to her for her eighteenth birthday and it had never left her arm after that. It's teardrop-shaped hands pointed to half past seven. She had become immune to the noise, but it seemed somewhat obnoxious in the cold silence. She considered muffling it, but decided that the chances were Snape would never notice it anyway.

_Tick tick tick._

What was Snape _doing_ for so long anyway, she wondered irritably. The breeze had picked up a little, and she felt her lip quiver. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, making sure the Cloak stayed in place, and jogged her knees a bit. The sudden flash of energy she'd felt outside the library had subsided, and been replaced with a dull ache in her limbs, and a sudden sense of weariness. Not to mention that cold was beginning to numb her fingers. She snapped them vigorously against each other, trying to get the blood back into them, and suddenly wondered whether this had been a stupid idea after all.

Two hours later, she heard a slight snick, and it was all she could do to not jump into the air and scream, '_Finally!_'

Instead, she sucked in her breath, and watched as the office door opened slowly, and Snape stepped out. Hermione almost choked. She was so used to seeing him swim about in loose black robes that the sight to Severus Snape in a pair of black trousers and a white linen shirt seemed strangely incongruous. He was also looking much less neat than he normally did. His face was a little (but very little) flushed, his eyes feverish and alive. His hair had been scraped impatiently off his face, but hung much the same at the back, and his shirt was half untucked and spilled messily from the waistband of his trousers. Hermione's eyes widened. Not once in her life had she imagined Snape in _anything_ but those robes, and even if she could have stretched her imagination enough to envision him in a shirt, it would have been tucked straight as a rod into his trousers.

Snape paused for a moment, and Hermione saw him glance around the corridor. A pinprick of a gleam sparkled in his eye for a moment, but then it was gone. Instead, he grabbed a black briefcase, and a bundle of something black and silky, and closed the office door behind him. He started walking towards the Entrance Hall at a quick pace, and Hermione waited for him to make some distance before scrambling to her feet, re-wrapping the Cloak, and following him silently.

As they traversed the long corridor together (although, she reminded herself, Snape didn't exactly know that), she found herself inspecting the way her ex-professor, now Potions Master walked. His legs were long and his steps were quick and deliberate. The ease with which he moved hadn't been very obvious when he was swathed in layers of robes, but in his new wardrobe, she noticed it for the first time. In fact, she thought, it would have been almost graceful, if only he didn't keep his shoulders so stiff as he walked. It wasn't a hunch, per say- more like he was gathering all his back muscles and knotting them tightly together.

He moved quickly, though, and before she knew it, they were crossing the Entrance Hall, and climbing down the porch steps. The rain hadn't stopped; if anything, it had worsened, and Hermione winced as she stepped out of the shadow of the facade and felt the first fat drop hit her crown hard. Her gaze flickered back to Snape, who didn't seem to care particularly that it was pouring all around him. She sighed, and glanced back at the dry, inviting porch.

She could always dump this stupid mission, she reasoned, and go back home.

That definitely made more sense.

She turned, and hurried after Snape.

* * *

She wasn't really surprised when they turned down the dingy, cobbled path that led to Knockturn Alley.

It was well past half past ten, when Snape finally drew to a stop beside the tattered wooden sign that informed him he was reaching the premises of Knockturn Alley, and Hermione was ridiculously tired. She had been afraid, when she followed him out of the grounds, that he would Disapparate, but to her relief he had first headed to the Hog's Head. She had wondered whether she was simply chancing upon him going out for an evening drink (or maybe, she thought, suddenly flushing furiously, a _date_) when he turned to the left and walked past the little shed into which she had Apparated that evening.

It was already dark, and Hogsmeade had been lit up brightly, strings of lights festooned around the little houses. The shed, however, was dark, and Hermione was now wet as well as cold. Snape did not seem to notice the rain, although it pattered lightly all around him, and soaked his shirt through. He simply walked straight, carrying his briefcase and black bundle.

He walked down a narrow path that led off the shed, and Hermione suddenly began to get her bearings.

They were walking to the _train station. _

Her assumption was proved right as they drew level with the platform, and Snape stepped under the shadow of its corrugated metal facade. It was only there that he seemed to notice that he was soaked, and murmuring a small curse he drew his wand from his pocket and dried himself. Then, he shook out the black bundle, which transpired to be a cloak, and wrapped it snugly around his shoulders.

All ideas of remaining invisible fled Hermione's mind. She knew that train stations had alerts on them to prevent loafers from riding without their tickets. Chances were, she'd be caught when trying to enter the train, and then there would be a hell of a lot to explain. Instead, she ducked behind a large signboard and slipped the Invisibility Cloak off her. Checking to see that Snape was preoccupied (he was determinedly eyeing the tracks), she shook it out so that drops of water flew everywhere. She did the same to her hair, which had soared out into a brilliant frizz, but her white button-up shirt, so crisp and pressed in the morning, was a soggy mess around her torso, and she could see the faint outline of a black bra through it.

Hermione sighed, and bundled the cloak into her handbag, before folding her arms determinedly over her chest, and peeking around the sign again.

At first, she thought that he had disappeared and panicked. But then she saw his tall, slender form, perched at the edge of the platform and heaved a sigh of relief. He looked deeply preoccupied, his eyes heavily hooded and lined. She snuck out from behind the signboard, and approached the ticket counter. A broad-shouldered man with a weak chin and thinning hair was ruminatively reading what appeared to be a romance novel behind it.

'Hello,' said Hermione quietly. She sneaked a glance over her shoulder. Snape was still pondering over the tracks.

The man behind the counter put down his novel with bad grace and frowned. 'Can I help you?'

'Could you tell me the train that comes to that platform, please?'

'Platform three, you mean? That would be the Express to London.'

'Oh, great,' said Hermione, with relief. 'Could you give me a ticket, please?'

'Would that be to London?' asked the man, raising an eyebrow.

'Er- the last stop.'

'Diagon Alley,' said the man, with a nod. He pulled the ticket from a small machine beside him and handed it to her. 'Have a nice ride.'

'Thank you.'

Clutching the ticket tightly in her palm, Hermione edged her way behind the ticket booth, not once taking her eyes off Snape's lean form. He didn't turn around at all. She was just wondering whether he had been frozen or petrified when a sharp hoot sounded around the bend of the tracks, and Snape started. He didn't jump or yell, but a shudder passed through his shoulders and he turned his head, so that his profile was highlighted against the platform. Hermione surveyed him with interest. He could, she realized, with some surprise, even be taken for handsome, when his features weren't too clearly visible. His brow was high and artistocratic, his nose sharp, and the outline of his mouth positively Greek. She shook her head a little over the hair- which was still tacked back in the ponytail- and then moved her gaze down to his shoulders, where the cloak was fastened on. Broad, she surmised, though not too much- she was willing to bet that his arms were pretty decent too.

The train rushed in with another piercing whistle that yanked her from processing that line of thought, and she blinked. Snape had taken an expectant step forward. Hermione edged in after him. She knew that she would have to get into the same carriage as him, but she couldn't let him see her. She sighed, as the train slowed to a stop before them, and then joined the small crowed that was heading towards the carriage door, a few steps behind Snape.

So far so good.

Getting into the train had been surprisingly easy. For such an alert man, Snape wasn't particularly perspicacious, she thought, a little smugly. He looked ahead at all times, and once he took his seat, he pulled a book from his briefcase and began to read it in a slow, methodical manner, his eyes sliding deliberately from word to word. Hermione cautiously sat down two rows behind him, and kept her eyes on the top of his head, which was visible over the seatback. The train began to move again, and Hermione relaxed into the seat, the motion of the wheels grinding up her ankles. It was warmer in here, without the wind and the rain, and she snuggled back into the seat and let her eyes slide to the scenery flying past the window.

She didn't realize she had drifted off until the train stopped with a jerk and her neck snapped forward. Immediately, her eyes opened and she glanced around. She was confused for a moment, and then reality crashed back and she gasped. She propped herself up in her seat and looked wildly around: Snape was standing beside his seat and picking up his briefcase. Thanking her lucky stars that she had caught him on time, she stood as well- keeping her back carefully turned to him, and then waited for a crowd to form between them before turning and observing him. He was pushing his way to the carriage door.

A gangly boy in a conductor's hat was yelling, 'Diagon Alley! All tickets for Diagon Alley here, please!'

Hermione frowned.

If he had just come for some shopping-

But Snape never shopped, she reminded herself, as she leapt lightly out of the carriage. He was already a few steps ahead, his back resolutely turned and his stride determined. He made his way past the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione watched as he musingly tapped the brick that led to the Alley.

The cold had set in again as she followed him through the arch, sneaking by just before it shut again. The alley was crowded, this evening, with a stream of well-dressed people in brightly colored hats and robes. Strings of lights were hung up on the shops, and Snape looked strangely ominous, prowling around in black cloak. As though sensing this, he unhooked it and tucked it under his arm again, although his white and black shirt-pant combination didn't cut a very festive figure either.

Hermione shook her head with a smile, and hurried after him. It was only after he took a left at the end of the alley that she realized where they were headed.

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

Really- why was she even surprised?

This, of course, changed things. She paused for a moment, and ducked behind a large statue of Carlos Montrier, the new Minister of Magic. He wasn't a very fat man, but the statue provided ample space for her to shake out the Invisibility Cloak and wrap it around her again. She took the turning into Knockturn Alley just as the ancient chime of the belltower informed her it was half past ten.

The sound was eerie- a dull, rustic sort of clang that echoed around the alley. She glanced around at its inhabitants, wondering if they would be affected by the sound, but they didn't seem to even notice it. A gangly man with only one arm was lugging a large sack over his good shoulder. Two women, dressed in brightly colored clothes and with a factory of lipstick on their mouths wrapped their arms possessively around each other and giggled their way down the alley. A broad-shouldered man in a sack-like toga, with a shiny-bald head and a earring leered around.

She couldn't find Snape.

She caught sight of a thin, scared-looking teenage boy hurrying past her and a moment later, the bald man had tapped his shoulder.

'Looking for someone, laddie?' he asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.

Hermione tensed. The boy looked terrified, and if this big brute of a man was going to pester him she wouldn't stand for it. She was contempating whipping off the cloak and rushing to his rescue, when he stuttered, 'Y-yes.'

Hermione's eyed widened. Oh.

The bald man smiled. 'I thought you would. You look like the type. Don't worry, I ain't no copper from the Ministry. Temme- what type you think you want?'

The boy had an answer at the tip of his tongue.

'Redhead,' he said, tentatively.

The bald man smiled broadly. 'Not very different from men twice your age, you aren't. Two hours?'

The boy nodded.

'I hope you have the money.'

He nodded again, and the bald man led him away.

Hermione gaped after them, and was brought back to her senses only when a scantily dressed witch bumped into her and swore. Quickly realizing she was invisible, she stepped away into a corner, but continued to stare at the spot where the bald man had stood. Was _this_ why Snape was in Knockturn Alley? Had he come for- for _this_? The idea repulsed her so intensely she was surprised. A wave of anger swept over her. _This_ was why-

Something jolted against her again.

She was yanked from her thoughts when she saw who the culprit was. A thirty-something man with a filthy black ponytail, in denim dungarees and by the looks of it nothing else. He was eyeing the area where she was standing very suspiciously, once or twice sniffing. Hermione shrank back. She was pushed up between the corner of an outhouse and the wall, and the only way out was blocked by the suspicious looking freak.

_Quiet, _she instructed herself. _Quiet, and wait for him to go._

The man turned over his shoulder, and called, 'Willy! Mart!'

Willy and Mart transpired to be a pair of burly construction workers, one with a bright head of red hair and the other with black curls. They both wore denim cut-offs and brass knuckles.

'Something up, Bob?'

The man with the ponytail gestured towards Hermione's general area.

'There's someone here.'

Before Hermione's mind could really process what was happening, rough hands were swiping in her direction. She felt one of them snag against the Cloak, and a moment later it was being ripped off her.

She gasped, as it was yanked away and she suddenly found herself visible. The three men were eyeing her with interest that was entirely too speculative to be innocent. The redhead was holding her Cloak in his hands, turning it experimentally over his fingers.

'Nice shirt you have there,' said Bob, with a quick smile. He had very sharp teeth, that curved in. 'Get wet in the rain, did you?'

Hermione frowned and stuck her hand into her pocket, where her wand snuggly sat. She curled her fingers around it.

'Give me back my Cloak.' she said, firmly.

Bob raised an eyebrow. 'Hear that, Willy? The girl wants her Cloak back!'

Willy chuckled. He ran his fingers along it.

'Nice little cloak, this is,' he said, admiringly. 'Stole it, did you?'

'I did not such thing,' said Hermione, frowning, 'Give it back to me and let me go.'

Bob shook his head and tutted. 'Rude,' he said, a little sadly, 'That's what they all are, these days. Not really _chatty_.'

'Let me go.'

'What I want to know,' said Mart, raising a finger, 'Is why a pretty girl like you is roaming around in a Cloak, anyway.'

'Hiding her bra, I'd say!' said Bob, and all three broke into hearty chuckles.

_Fine_, Hermione thought, furiously, _Fine, that it's it. I'm hexing their balls off. Count of three- one- two-_

'Miss Granger, what a delightful surprise,' said an all-too-familiar voice.

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, and there's one more chapter.**

**I hope it wasn't too boring, in the beginning part where Hermione's following Snape. To be honest, it bored me a little to write it. I'm going to have to figure out how to be a bit more sensationalist, I think.**

**Also, one reviewer asked me when the Snape action was going to come. I'm sorry it's a little slow, but I figured that's how it would be with Hermione and Snape, considering how she views him: not only as the oily git he was supposed to be when they were in school, but also because he's a teacher. I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible, but I'll try and put in some Snape melodrama.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed =D**


	10. Hexes and Thoughts

**CHAPTER 10**

Hermione blinked.

Snape was standing behind the three men, smiling casually. His cloak was still tucked under his arm, and his long, lean frame was in a relaxed posture. He looked like he was about to enter into a pleasant conversation with a distant friend. She couldn't help noticing, though, that he gripped his wand rather tightly at his waist, and felt a little comforted by it.

All three men had turned to gape at the newcomer, and Hermione thought their surprise was not unwarranted. Snape, after all, was not Knockturn Alley material. He did not have warts, extra body appendages (that she knew of) or green fingernails. He was looking positively dapper compared to the other three, and Hermione, in a brief moment of craziness, thought he looked rather vaguely like a knight in shining armor.

A feeling which disappeared entirely when he cast her a cold look that indicated he thought her the worst fool possible.

Feeling there was no more need for it, she slipped her wand back into her pocket. The movement alerted Bob, who wheeled around and removed the gaping expression on his face.

'Now look 'ere,' he said, roughly, 'Who's this?'

Mart and Willy nodded as thought to re-emphasize the question. Snape completely ignored them. Eyes on her, he addressed Hermione directly.

'What a pleasant coincedence that I should run into you, over here,' he said, with a perfectly arced eyebrow. 'Positively ghoulish, I call it.'

'You!' snarled Bob, lifting his wand. 'You- fucker- who are you?'

Snape looked politely surprised to be addressed in such a manner.

'I'm her teacher,' he said, coldly. 'Who are you?'

Bob frowned. 'Her teacher? She's in school, then?'

'No,' said Snape, in a tone that suggested he was conferring with an idiot, 'She's my apprentice. Could you step back, please? I think you're rather invading Miss Granger's personal space.'

His knuckles tightened almost imperceptably over the length of his wand, but the cold smile remained on his face.

'Apprentice, is she?' echoed Bob, mockingly. The other two seemed to have lost their voices, and their gazes flicked nervously over Hermione. She wasn't worried anymore, though. A strange sense of security had flooded her, and she stood calmly, waiting for Snape to hex the balls off this man.

'Yes, that's what I said,' said Snape. 'Step back and let her through? I would like to accompany Miss Granger back to her home.'

'I don't think I can h'allow that.' said Billy, his lip stretching upwards. He seemed to have pegged Snape down for a bit of a wimp. Hermione shook her head. Poor, poor thing.

'I think you can,' said Snape, his voice a little colder this time.

But Billy had called upon his last reserves of courage, and took an authoritative stepped forward. 'I'm saying no, mister,' he said, coolly. 'It's rude, is what I call it, when a man- I won't say gent- such as yourself interrupts a conversation between me and a pretty lady, such as this one. Especially when the pretty lady has her bra all over the place, like a wanton little-'

Snape raised his wand, and though he didn't open his mouth, jet of hot white light soared from its tip and blasted Billy in the chest. The man didn't even have time to reorganize his face to register surprise. Still with his mouth angrily open, he toppled to the ground.

Mart and Willy turned and fled.

Hermione eye's roved from the prone figure on the ground to her potions master, who was calmly re-pocketing his wand.

'Body Binding Spell,' she said, finally. 'That's a difficult one to do non-verbally. Well done.'

The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. It sounded as though she were complimenting him in a petty fashion, she thought, as though _she_ were the teacher, and she was sure Snape would not like that. Sure enough, Snape's mouth pressed together very slightly, but then it relaxed and broadened into the quirky smile she was quickly familiarizing herself with.

'Thank you,' he said, with a courteous bow. 'Come. We have to go.'

Hermione blinked. 'What?'

'Your little admirer dropped the Cloak- there. Put it in your bag and then come. I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of you milling about Knockturn Alley after dark.'

Hermione frowned. She was irritated that he expected her to leave with him and surprised that he was taking her under his wing so readily. Snape had never really struck her as a _caring_ person. But nothing irked her more than the last line.

'I am perfectly capable of roaming here after dark,' she said, coldly.

'Apparent.' Snape's gaze travelled to Billy's prone form. Hermione felt a flash of irritation.

'I was just about to hex him when you came!'

'I'm sure you were, but it's still better that you had company.'

Hermione continued to look mutinous, and he said, in a gentler tone, 'Company isn't such a bad thing, Miss Granger.'

Something about the expression on his face jabbed at her. His eyes had become momentarily softer- although that quickly disappeared- and a line had formed near the corner of his mouth, something that made him seem- was it _lonely_?

No, she decided. It was just condescension.

Nevertheless, she decided to go without a fuss. Truth be told she _did_ feel a bit more comfortable with him. She remembered the warm security that had enveloped her when he had turned up and swallowed nervously.

'What about him?' she asked, gesturing towards Billy.

Snape looked pained, as though attending to people he had jinxed did not appeal to him. He swished his wand, and a something silvery shot from the end of it. Hermione cursed; wordless magic again. If she had heard him conjuring the Patronus she would have peered to see what form it took. As it was all she caught was a flash of light, and then it was gone.

'Ministry officials will be here soon,' said Snape, matter-of-factly. 'They'll take care of him.'

Hermione nodded. She wanted, quite desperately, suddenly, to ask him what form his patronus took. It was a quickly born curiosity that raged within her. She knew, though, that that was something she would never ask him. It was just too personal.

She flashed back to reality, and found Snape watching her with quiet amusement.

'I'll drop you to your apartment,' he said.

* * *

'I suppose you want to know what I was doing in Knockturn Alley?' asked Hermione, defiantly.

They had apparated to the telephone booth below her flat, and were lingering in the lobby. Snape had remained silent the entire journey back, striding forward to the Diagon portal with Hermione hurrying to keep up. When they reached, he merely lifted his hand and looked at her with a bored and expectant expression. Hermione had blinked.

'Well?' said Snape, raising an eyebrow.

She wasn't normally the type, but since she was a little annoyed and was sweating through the after-effects of a shock, she said, rather stupidly, 'Well what?'

Snape looked faintly annoyed.

'Since I don't know where your apartment is, perhaps you could do me the honor of Apparating us both there.'

Hermione swallowed. She made a last-ditch attempt.

'I can go home on my own, you know.'

Snape said, wearily, 'Haven't we already discussed this, Miss Granger?'

She sighed inaudibly, and then reached up she touched his palm very lightly. His skin was smooth and cool, something she had associated naturally with its paleness. He closed his eyes and stood expectantly, and Hermione fumbled to concentrate, apparating them very precisely to the booth. She staggered as they landed, and fumbled against the smooth panes of glass, but Snape stood perfectly on his feet and watched a little disdainfully as she scrambled to her feet.

_Some sort of knight in shining armor, _she thought, indignantly. _He didn't even offer to help me!_

A faintly amused smile crossed Snape's face, and he pushed open the booth door. The air outside was icy and Hermione winced. Her shirt was still a little damp and she wasn't wearing a jacket. There was a slight swish beside her, and the next thing she knew Snape was holding out his cloak.

'Here,' he said, briefly.

Hermione blinked. 'What?'

Snape looked impatient. 'Put this on. It will be too big for you, given your somewhat- _minute_- stature, but it's the best I can do. I wonder, Miss Granger, how I expect you to solve mysteries and further my research as my apprentice, when the simple act of wearing a jacket seems to perplex you.'

Once more, Hermione felt a rush of gratefulness coupled with a flood of anger. She really was cold, though, so she took the cloak, and wrapped it haphazardly around her, before saying, 'It wasn't cold when I left in the afternoon.'

'No doubt,' said Snape, with a sort of neck-incline that might signify a semi-bow. She looked rather comical, with the cloak dragging on the floor over her. The glint of amusement shone in his eyes (oh, how she hated him), and then he turned and began to walk off.

He seemed to know which block of flats she lived in, and when they reached the lobby he pressed the elevator button with the air of a wizard who was familiar with such contraptions. There was a long creak somewhere above them that signalled that the elevator was on its way, and Snape leaned against the wall, lapsing into a sort of quiet brooding. It was then that Hermione asked, 'I suppose you want to know what I was doing in Knockturn Alley?'

Snape glanced briefly at her, and then at the large marble pillar that adorned he lobby.

'Interesting,' he murmured, thoughtfully, 'I believe this is in the traditional gothic style. I wouldn't expect to find so good a copy in a Muggle building.'

'Come on,' said Hermione, disbelievingly. 'You can't tell me you aren't curious at all as to what I was doing there.'

Snape sighed. The elevator had arrived, and he stepped into it and looked questioningly at her.

'Fourth floor,' said Hermione, impatiently. 'Well?'

He pressed the button, and said, 'No, Miss Granger, I am not curious about what you were doing in such a disreputable place today.'

_Disreputable? _It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that he himself had been in the aforementioned disreputable place, but she felt it would be wiser not to. Instead, she said, 'I suppose you're going to _reason_ your way through it, then?'

It was a pointless jab. She was feeling cold, hungry, tired, and not a little petty, and his superious tone was annoying her. But the mock fell on deaf ears. Snape simply looked a little amused.

'I don't believe I have to,' he said, his eyes glimmering faintly. 'I know why you were at the alley.'

The elevator had stopped at her floor. Hermione raised her eyes to his own smooth face, and said, challengingly, 'Why, then?'

'Because, Miss Granger,' said Snape mildly, as he stepped out of the elevator and she followed him, 'You were following me the entire evening.'

Hermione's mouth fell open and her eyes widened. Her knuckles, which were clutching the cloak around her body tightened a little. Snape had turned his back to her again, and was surveying the three doors on her floor contemplatively.

'401, 402, 403,' he murmured. 'Which one is yours?'

'You _knew_ I was following you?'

'I'm not an idiot, Miss Granger. Please disabuse yourself of that notion. Which- Ah, 403 it is,' he said, as she pushed her way forward and unlocked the door. She paused as it swung open. She had had no intention of letting Snape into her apartment, but she was ragingly embarassed and curious now, so she forced her voice into a modicum of civility, and said, 'Would you like to come in for some tea?'

Again, Snape's eyes glimmered with amusement. He inclined his head. 'Curious as ever, Miss Granger.' he said. 'But I'm afraid I must be leaving.'

'Leaving?'

'That's right,' he said, a trifle mockingly. 'People tend to do that at the termination of a visit.'

_Fuck you and your terminations of visits. _She made a last ditch attempt, '_How_ did you know I was following you?' she asked.

He smiled, not quirkily, but with a strange upward tilt of only one side of his mouth.

'I followed your thoughts,' he said, simply, and before she could make any comment, or for that matter even register what he had said, he had turned and left.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry, this chapter was kind of short. I wanted to tack on a bit about what Harry and Ron are doing, but it doesn't really fit here. On the brighter side, though, SNAPE APPEARANCE. **

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! =D**

**Oh, and I hope Snape didn't come off too wishy-washy. For Snape, that is? I didn't want to make him AS cold as he normally is, because Hermione just had a bit of a shock, and stuff. Oh, and by the way, I have no clue what British hoodlums talk like, so all the lines spoken by Bob and Willy and Mart are based on what I'd imagine they would.**

**I think.**

**Please review!**


	11. Basilisk Meat and Snake Tongue

**CHAPTER 11**

Hermione hesitated, with her hand poised to knock, fist curled and fingers tucked in, at the threshold of Snape's office...

Being Snape's, the door of the office was firmly shut. She was willing to bet he'd even put a Colloportus on it, to ensure that no wayward students found their way inside. She remembered her own little adventures with the storage room behind the office and winced. Apparently, he had good reason to be so cautious.

At the same time, she felt strangely reluctant to knock. The excitement of her first day was settling friskily in her stomach, and three cups of coffee later, she suddenly found herself worrying. Aided in no part by last night's strange occurrence, she felt vaguely conscious about entering the room and facing what would surely be a sardonic smile. Not to mention, she remembered with a shudder, she still had no idea why Snape had gone to Knockturn Alley, and if it had anything to do with the robust pimp and his redheads-

She was on the verge of working herself up into a bit of a temper when the office door opened seamlessly, and Snape stood calmly in front of her, one eyebrow arched with perfect derision.

'How rude of me not to inform you of my dungeon protocol, Miss Granger,' he said, with mock apology, 'But tradition here decrees that unless one knocks on a door, the occupant of the room within does not open it.'

Hermione stared at him speechlessly.

'Of course, decorum is variable as always,' Snape said, graciously. 'I do not insist on knocking. Calling out, or alerting myself to your presence in other ways would be perfectly acceptable. However, simply standing with a raised hand outside my door does not warrantee maximum efficiency. It's somewhat unfair for you to assume I would abjectly guess your presence.'

'Oh, really,' challenged Hermione, feeling the three cups of coffee course through her nervous system, 'Then how exactly did you, just now?'

For a moment, Snape's face was still, and then a tremor passed over his mouth.

'Come on inside, Miss Granger,' he said, lightly, 'And we'll get started on your work, shall we?'

Hermione swallowed nervously as she followed Snape into his office. He was once again dressed in his trademark black robes, the smooth material flowing seamlessly over his broad shoulders. His posture was a little less stiff, and when he seated himself at his desk, there was something almost graceful in the way his arms settled on the wooden surface. He linked his fingers authoratively, and surveyed Hermione. Although his face looked, if it were possible, almost paler than before, his tense expression had subsided, and he looked a little lighter.

Apparently, Severus Snape was on the verge of _relaxing_.

Feeling suddenly very conscious, Hermione stumbled to the chair facing him and sat down. She fidgeted with her cream-colored shirt cuffs, as Snape continued to survey her. She crossed and uncrossed her ankles, and then began to finger the strap of her handbag. After a few seconds of supreme discomfort, Snape spoke.

'I suppose,' he said, with a trace of amusement mingled with bitterness, 'That you're champing at the bit to know the subject of my research?'

Hermione started in her seat, and her eyes widened slightly. 'Yes!' she said, eagerly, and then, after a pause, added a belated- 'Please?'

Snape looked dangerously close to chuckling. A muscle that ran along his narrow mouth twitched.

'Well, you're going to have to wait for that,' he said, lazily. His eyes trailed over her face, no doubt savoring the mutinous expression that had surmounted it. 'We shall come to that in a while. First-'

He bent down and opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a single sheet of parchment, inscribed in columns with his small handwriting, and placed it on the desk, sliding it towards Hermione with his fingertips.

'This,' he said, as she took the paper, 'Is a list of the ingredients that I use in my potions. Why don't you go over it for a moment?'

There was something strangely inviting in his tone, and Hermione's eyes dropped to the parchment, bemusedly. At first glance, the parchment seemed incredibly ordinary. She perplexedly allowed her gaze to travel down the list of ingredients, with neat indications of measurement recorded beside them. They were very like the ingredients she had used during her examination: lacewing, bicorn horn, emmental powder...

However, as she continued down the parchment, she began to sense that something was a little off. The ingredients listed before her were getting darker and darker in nature. She read through Unicorn Blood, Ruthby pellets and Devil's Snare Shoot with reasonably composure, but a small spasm crossed her face as she reached-

'Basilisk meat?' she squeaked, looking up. Snape had steepled his fingers, and was observing her over them with silent amusement.

'Yes,' he said, simply.

'But- but isn't that a classified item?'

'That, Miss Granger, depends entirely on what basis you define the term classified,' said Snape, sanctimoniously.

Hermione felt an all-too-familiar flash of irritation.

'Well, I pretty much go with the Ministry when it comes to defining terms they can throw me into Azkaban for!' she snapped.

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, and her face paled a little as she watched Snape, expecting either an outburst or a cold reprimand. Strangely, she didn't get either. Instead, for a brief instant, she saw a strange expression flicker across his face. It was gone before she could peg it down, but she had an uneasy feeling that it was-

_Satisfaction?_

Snape seemed to be considering a point, and then he finally said, 'Miss Granger, I explained to you before you signed the bonds that my research is of a dubious nature. And yes, it isn't entirely within the confines of Ministry approval- in fact, it most deliberately toes the line.'

Hermione's eyes dropped to the parchment.

'This seems to go a bit beyond toeing the line,' she said, quietly.

Snape's mouth curled. 'That's true,' he agreed. 'However, I give you my solemn word that you needn't fear any Ministry-related reprisals related to me while you work under me.'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. 'Excuse me?'

'I believe you heard me perfectly well.'

'I did. I was just wondering why you seemed so confident of it?' she asked.

Snape did not answer. Instead, he said, 'If you're done with that list, Miss Granger, follow me.'

Hermione blinked as he stood up abruptly, pushing his chair out behind him and bracing his palms against the desk. She stood up as well, feeling clumsy and awkward.

'Where are we going?'

'To my private stores.'

* * *

As Hermione entered the small storage room, she was reminded strongly of the last time she had been in there. She had been twelve at the time, but nothing much had changed. Her eyes fell on the dusty shelves, all packed with neatly sealed cartons of ingredients, some of them stored in boxes that had been locked. The shelves broke the smooth surface of the wall in a ladder-like pattern all the way to the ceiling. A small ladder was propped up against the corner wall.

Snape, who had unlocked the door with a fluid motion and stepped into the room, turned around to see her face tilted up, and eyes scanning the ceiling. A faint smirk crossed his face.

'Reminiscing, Miss Granger?' he asked.

'Yes,' she replied, without thinking, and then caught herself as she saw the triumphant rise of his eyebrows. 'I mean- I don't know what you're talking about,' she amended, hastily. The words fell a little lamely in the silence of the room. Snape, who's mouth had curved into one of the first full-blown, genuine smiles she had seen his sport, simply shrugged slightly, and turned around.

'Come here, Miss Granger,' he said.

Hermione, who's cheeks were flaming red, squeezed herself into the small space between the wall and Snape's robed form. She felt uncomfortably close to him, the hairs on her arms standing up from the static in his cloak. She could smell some sort of cologne he wore from here: it was something woodsy and spicy, reminding her distinctly of a bonfire in the mountains. He lifted his arm, and with the rustle of his robes the scent wafted out to her even stronger. She inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes for a brief moment.

'If you could do me the courtesy of opening your eyes, Miss Granger, you might see what it was I intended to show you.'

The cold voice cut into her revelry, and she couldn't stop a frown from forming between her brows as she did as indicated. Snape was holding one of the locked boxes, and a small key in the palm of his hand. He unlocked it quickly, and flung back the lid, thrusting it out in front of her face. Hermione peered into it, noticing a thin spiky looking plant, with a few, dark glossy leaves. As she watched, one of the leaves curled in and the whole plant shivered.

'That's a baby Devil's Snare,' Hermione breathed, her eyes widening with surprise. Snape clicked his tongue with satisfaction, but she was barely listening. All her attention was focused on the small, dark plant. The leaf uncurled, and then reached out into the air, like the tongue of a snake. It swayed hypnotically in her direction, and Hermione realized the plant could sense her presence.

'I keep it in the box to shield it from any heat,' Snape said, withdrawing his arm and snapping the box closed. Hermione realized this was a good idea, because she had been seconds away from stroking the plant's leaf with her finger. Which would obviously have been very, very stupid.

'It's got a cooling charm on it,' Snape added. 'I'm very fastidious about how my ingredients are kept, Miss Granger. You should know that.'

He moved back a few inches, and his robes slipped smoothly over the skin of Hermione's forearm, jerking her from her trance. She sucked in her breath, and watched as he replaced the box, and pulled a tin from one of the other shelves. He uncapped it, and offered it to her.

Hermione took the tin. It was so broad she had to wrap the fingers of both her hands around its width. She leaned forward and inspected the contents. It appeared to be a dull, off-white powder, that was sifted finely against the metal. A sharp, unpleasant smell reached her nostrils, and pricked tangily at the back of her nose.

'Do you know what that is?' Snape asked.

She bit her lip and shook her head.

Snape remained silent, which obviously meant she was expected to answer a bit more precisely. She scanned the white powder again, but other than the distinctive smell there wasn't anything with which she could positively identify it. For all she knew it could be coke or some other drug that Ron always insisted that Snape snorted. She felt a prick of panic, wondering whether she was going to have to face Snape and admit that she hadn't a clue what it was she was holding.

'Try looking at the substance it's emitting,' Snape said, gently.

Hermione blinked and refocused her attention to the area immediately above the tin. Now, she noticed what was transmitting the smell: thin, coils of white smoke that rose in gentle spirals from the powder. Immediately, she understood.

'It's powdered truffle,' she said, with a sigh of relief. 'Albanian Truffle.'

A faint smile creased Snape's mouth. 'That's right, Granger. Never overlook small details. They can very often lead to very large breakthroughs. If you hadn't noticed the coils in the smoke, this powder would have been indistinguishable from bicorn horn and cocaine, is it not?'

Hermione nodded, silently.

'Very well, then.' He recapped the tin and put it back on the shelf. His eyes scanned each shelf deliberately, obviously looking for something.

'Uh- excuse me, Professor Snape,' said Hermione, nervously.

'Yes, Miss Granger,' he asked, without looking at her. He moved to the right, and with the swish of his robes another powerful waft of scent drifted towards Hermione. She tried to inhale as powerfully and discreetly as possible while answering.

'Why are you showing me these ingredients?'

'To dispel you of any notion that you may have associated with such- classified items, as you so aptly call them,' said Snape, who was still glancing about the shelves.

Hermione frowned. 'Like what?'

'Like assuming I wouldn't have them,' Snape said, absently. He caught sight of something, and his eyes lit up. Leaning forward, he grasped a small wooden casket, and pulled it off the shelf. Hermione noticed that the casket had small engravings on it. She frowned, as Snape carefully unlocked it, and opened the lid with obvious reverence.

'Here, Miss Granger, is your so-called classified item,' he said, with icy pride. Hermione leaned forward, and gasped as she saw the contents of the box.

It was lined with powder-blue velvet, that was stained bloodily by many small pieces of pinkish-white flesh. The strands of muscles and sinew were splayed grotesquely across the lining, with independent drops of blood etched into the corners. A horrible smell wafted up to her, and she jerked away reflexively.

Snape looked pleased.

'That's Basilisk meat!'

'I know,' said Snape, sanctimoniously. He closed the box, but did not replace it.

'Professor, if the Ministry knew that you-'

'Basilisk meat,' interrupted Snape, 'Is a very difficult ingredient to store. Can you tell me why?'

'Because you could go to Azkaban for storing it!'

'Wrong,' said Snape. 'That's the least of my worries. The problem with storing this meat is that it rots extremely fast, and is generally added to potions in small quantities over large periods of time. For example, if I had to brew a Suppression Draught, I would need to add a few grams of the meat to a simmering mixture of other ingredients every week for a period of _two months_. Can you see why that would present me with difficulties?'

'It's illegal! How can you-?'

'Miss Granger,' said Snape, with exaggerated patience. 'For once, can you please dispel yourself of any concerns regarding rules or Ministry protocol?'

'Oh really,' challenged Hermione, feeling a flash of anger. 'And here I was, thinking you were the biggest stickler for rules Hogwarts has ever seen!'

'An impressive display of pettiness, but ineffective all the same,' Snape said, mildly. 'I make my own rules. You should know that by now, Miss Granger.'

Hermione glared mutinously at him.

'Now, if you're calmer, can you tell me how I get around the problem of the rotting meat?'

Hermione glanced at the box in his hand. Strangely, it wasn't made of magical wood: instead, its purplish hue suggested plain rosewood. Rosewood, she knew, was known for its excessive use in pureblood lineages, and for its _imbibing_ properties.

'Show me that box,' she said, authoratatively.

Snape did not seem offended by her brusqueness. Instead, he handed her the box with a pleased expression. Hermione eyed the lid speculatively: it seemed to have a pattern of runes engraved in it. She noticed a triangle with a set of enforcing lines, and a double-centred eye. Running her fingertip over the marks, she felt the quiet hum of magic.

'The runes,' she said, finally, 'You've put preservation spells in them. The wood isn't affected, so the meat remains untouched by magic, but the runes protect it from decay.'

'Well reasoned, Miss Granger,' said Snape, smoothly. He put the casket back in the shelf, and pushed open the door to the storage room. He began to exit the room, but Hermione, who wanted to spend more time going over the ingredients, hung back unwillingly. Her eyes snuck quickly over the shelves, trying to see if there was anything else that belonged in a guarded Ministry locker. Before she could register any of the items, however, her wrist was caught in a hard hold, and she was pulled out of the room. Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock at the motion. Snape's grip had been mild, but with a tough inner force, as though his tendons were made of iron. And although he dropped her hand immediately, his expression of standard indifference, she felt her stomach flip a dozen times.

_Snape touched me._

_Snape TOUCHED me._

She didn't know why the thought affected her so much. She honeslty didn't. After all, she had studied for six years under the same man, mixing potions and stirring concoctions while he breathed invasively down her neck. But something about today's conact seemed- well, not a violation, exactly, but like a burst of cold water being sprayed on her head. It was as though, in all her assumptions of Snape, she had never considered him human. The fact that he had a sense of touch- albeit a rather hard and cold one- came as a resounding shock. The nonchalance on his face only worsened that.

She blinked dizzily as she followed him back to his office. He sat down again, and linked his fingers on the desk.

'Where did you get the meat from?' she asked, frowning, 'Basilisk meat isn't available, even in shady places like Knockturn Alley. It's very difficult to get your hands on.'

'Not if you know where to go,' Snape said, idly. He was fumbling around in his desk again, and this time pulled out a thin, silver key.

'Well, how did you know?' asked Hermione. She knew that the tone of her voice had progressed beyond authorized student-teacher protocol. She didn't care.

'By looking at Harry Potter's memories six years back,' said Snape, absently. He polished the key on his sleeve and then made to get up, pausing only when he saw her expression. Her eyes had widened and her mouth hung unattractively open. She blinked several times.

'You- you used Harry's memories to get yourself Potion's ingredients?' she asked, shocked.

'Yes,' said Snape, in a bored voice.

'But you can't- why would- how could you-?'

She didn't get to finish the question. Snape cut in.

'Ms. Granger, when I see from that boy's somewhat jumbled memories that a dead Basilisk is lying in the Chamber of Secrets, perfectly preserved, you can hardly expect me not to use it.'

She blinked several times. 'How did you know it was preserved?'

'Because it's common sense,' said Snape, in a matter-of-fact tone. 'Salazar Slytherin was not an idiot; He knew the worth of the monster he planted in the castle. Obviously, the Chamber would have spells to ensure the meat could be used.'

'I- How did you get into the Chamber?' Hermione demanded.

Snape shrugged. 'The girl's bathroom. It was easy, after going through Potter's memories.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'You can speak Parsletongue?' she breathed.

Snape did not answer. Instead, he stood up.

'Follow me,' he said.


	12. Cauldrons and Questions

**CHAPTER 12**

As they got up and left his office once more, Hermione was conscious of a thick culmination, as though things were about to tumble to an end. She knew that the moment she had been waiting for, when Snape would finally tell her what they would be working on, was about to come. As the thought flitted through her sub-conscious, she was reminded of another fact: it wouldn't be a culmination so much as the beginning of a whole new process.

'Where are we going?' she asked, as she jogged lightly behind him. His strides were wide, and impossible to keep up with at a normal pace. He glanced down at her, his gaze piercing her from the corner of his eye, and seemed to note her flushed face and shortness of breath. Two bright points of amusement shone at the corners of his mouth, and then he slowed down.

'To the classroom in which you were poking about yesterday,' he said, slowing to a halt in front of the door. It was bolted and locked today, Hermione nodded.

'Is that key meant for this lock?' she asked, pointing.

Snape raised his eyebrows. 'I would have thought that obvious, Miss Granger,' he said, coolly. Hermione flushed and he continued, 'I aways keep it locked. It was sheer carelessness that it was open to your prying eyes yesterday.'

He pushed the door open, and Hermione again tasted the thick, cloying steam of the second cauldron on the roof of her mouth. She thought of the cup of blood, and resisted the urge to gag as Snape guided her between tables to the desk with the cauldrons. They remained as they had been yesterday.

'As you have guessed,' said Snape, gesturing towards the cauldrons, 'These are the objects of my study.' His voice was protective, proud, like a mother nurturing her baby. His gaze fell fixedly on the cauldrons, and the hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.

Hermione's tongue felt like cotton. 'What are they?' she asked.

Snape took a moment to answer. Oh, sorry, excuse her. He took a moment to _guide her through the question_.

'These cauldrons,' he said, pointing with affection, 'Have been here for many months. I always keep them in a fixed state. The first cauldron has always had a fire under it. The third never has. They've remained steaming in the same manner all these weeks. What does that tell you?'

Hermione cleaved her tongue from the roof of her mouth. 'I'm not entirely sure,' she said, doubtfully, 'But it seems to indicate that they're incredibly powerful. When we brewed- er- learned about the Polyjuice Potion, it took months and it's changes were very gradual. But some of the more- trivial potions that we attempt in class change rapidly and evaporate quickly. Is that right?'

Snape smiled. 'Good, Miss Granger,' he said, and she felt a flash of pride. 'You're right, more powerful potions are more stable. Their power is a result of slow conditioning, eons of brewing. They are not quick fixes. They are carefully prepared masterpieces with the imbibed strength of time.'

Hermione wondered whether he was always so poetic about his potions.

'Yes,' she said, uncertainly.

'What we have learnt, from several Potions Masters,' continued Snape, 'Is that powerful potions have several ingredients, that the cooperation and combustion of the ingredients gives the potion its power. However, I have decided to brew it in a different way. I've tried to use the minimum number of ingredients for my potions.'

Hermione frowned. 'Excuse me, but isn't that horribly difficult?'

'Be more precise, Miss Granger.'

She stifled a frown. 'I meant that when you're composing a potion of your own, with a specific purpose in mind, you need a huge variety of ingredients to achieve it. It's only very basic potions that have relatively few components.'

Snape inclined his head. 'That's true,' he said, 'However, I'm trying to work on an opposing principle. I brewed these potions with a huge variety of ingredients- you saw the list in my office, Miss Granger. Now, I'm trying to trim and prune wherever possible. If I do succeed, it will alter the very basis of Potions Making. It will inverse Waldorf's principle immediately.'

'You'd prove that simplicity leads to power,' Hermione said, slowly. The idea took a slow, but powerful root in her head, and she realized that it was brilliant.

Snape nodded. 'That's one of my goals. It's hard word, and a very long road, but I believe I can find fulfillment.'

Hermione bit her lip. She was still struggling out of her text-book mentality. It sounded near impossible to her.

'What is this potion?' she asked, hoarsely. She glanced down at the three potions again.

Snape inhaled deeply. He seemed to be wondering how best to respond. Finally, he moved closer to her and lifted his arm to gesture towards the first cauldron. The movement shuddered through his robes, and suddenly Hermione felt enveloped with the same woodsy smell she had noticed earlier in the morning. She inhaled deeply.

'This cauldron,' said Snape, loudly, and she jerked back to attention, 'Notice the steam and the color and texture of the potion. You've seen my ingredients on that tray. Do you know what makes the potion roil?'

'Human blood,' said Hermione, immediately. She was glad that he had brought the topic up. This was something they needed to clarify.

Snape's eyes narrowed, but in an amused manner. His cheek twitched.

'That was fast, Miss Granger.'

'I'm not an idiot,' said Hermione. She wondered whether he knew she had one to the library to look up that particular point.

He was silent for a moment, and then said, 'Good. If you know that, then we need not waste too much time with this potion. We can move on to-'

'Hold on just one minute,' said Hermione, holding up a hand. She glanced at the potion and then fastened her eyes on him. 'I have a few questions about this potion.'

Snape looked weary. 'Obviously.'

'It _is_ human blood, then?'

'That's what I just said, Miss Granger.'

'Well,' said Hermione, 'That doesn't make me comfortable at all. I saw how much blood was in that cup, and I'm sure you've used _gallons_ more in the potion, not to mention _all_ the versions of this potion you've brewed before this. I don't- I don't know whether you're getting it from Hogwarts medical supplies, or, I don't know- Stunning students and bleeding them while they're out, or whatever it is you're doing, but I'm really not comfortable with this!'

Hermione had seen Snape amused several times before, and contemptuous almost all the time. For the first time in a long time, she saw another emotion ghost across his face, and recognized it immediately: it was anger.

Actually, she mused, it was much more than anger. Although his face didn't betray anything more than a sudden tightening, his eyes narrowing and glimmering and his mouth hardening into a rigid line, she knew that inside he was seething; Snape was _livid_. He was silent for a slightly longer span of time, and when he spoke it was with thick difficulty.

'I can assure you that I haven't been employing any of the methods you mentioned off the top of your head,' he said, his voice a raspy whisper. Hermione couldn't help it: she shrank slightly back against her chair, her eyes widening just a bit. She knew that these involuntary movements were enough for Snape to know she was scared. She also knew that chances were he wouldn't give a damn.

'Um-' she squeaked.

'It is enlightening, though, to know your estimation of my methods.'

His voice was still light and grating. His last sentence, she knew immediately from the tone, was not an expression of disappointment that she had such a low opinion of him, but rather disgust that she was so stupid.

'I-um- I'm sorry,' she muttered. 'I didn't mean to- mean to insinuate-'

'No, you didn't,' His tone was better now. More even. She knew he was regaining control, suppressing his anger. 'You were very direct, Miss Granger. However, let me assure you that I have neither raided Madam Pomfrey's supplies nor knocked out students and drained them, tempting though that sounds.'

Hermione cleared her throat, embarrassed. Beyond the humiliation, however, was solid curiosity.

'So then- then how did you get the blood?' she asked, hesitantly. She didn't know if her question was permissible after her recent faux-pas.

Snape said, dryly, 'I draw it from myself.'

Hermione's eyes widened, and she choked.

'You- you what?'

Snape cocked an eyebrow. 'Don't look so shocked,' he said, in a bored tone. 'I merely draw the blood from myself.'

Hermione remembered her previous comment about gallons of blood, and suddenly felt she understood why Snape always looked so pale.

'You- you draw it from yourself,' she repeated, uncertainly. This felt wrong, so wrong. 'Do you- do you use a medical procedure? I mean- syringes-'

Snape looked amused. 'Miss Granger, don't display such stupidity,' he said, cocking an eyebrow. 'You know yourself that the properties of the blood are preserved only when drawn with a silver blade.'

Hermione shrank back further in her seat. 'You mean you _cut_ yourself?' she whispered.

He eyed her with a strange expression. He seemed to be trying to understand why she was so horrified. 'That's right, Miss Granger,' he said, his tone experimental. He eyed her carefully, in a way that made her acutely uncomfortable. She shook her head, and tried to rid herself of her misgivings.

'Don't worry,' he said, suddenly, and she looked up at the strangely gentle tone of his voice. His expression was shadowed. 'I won't be asking you to do the same.'

Hermione opened her mouth. She wanted to tell him that hadn't been her concern. She wanted to let him know that the thought of any human doing that to themselves horrified her, and yes, she considered him human. She wanted to ask him if his research was really worth _that_.

Instead, she said, 'So what exactly are these potions?'

* * *

'What exactly are you doing?' asked Ron, as he entered Harry's office. The latter was poised in the act of shrugging on his coat. 'Are you headed out for lunch, somewhere? It's barely half past eleven.'

'I thought we could try and meet Hermione for lunch,' Harry said, evasively.

Ron cocked an eyebrow.

'Okay!' said Harry, throwing up his hands. He checked to make sure the door was shut, and then said, 'I want to go down to Hogsmeade, and find the portal from which Everard supposedly drew out the money. There has to be some sign there.'

Ron looked doubtful. 'Like what?' he asked, 'How do these portals work, anyway?'

Harry shrugged. 'There like ATMs.'

Ron blinked. 'AT- what's?'

'Devises to draw out money,' Harry explained, 'Anybody from the Department who needs cash for an official purpose has a PIN number, that's linked to their specific ID-cards. They just have to enter it, and they can draw out as much money as they want. They have to account for it later, thought. Everything goes into the records.'

Ron frowned. 'So what you're saying is that if someone had Everard's PIN number, they could draw out money in his name?' he asked.

Harry nodded. 'If we go down to the portal, we might be able to find out who that was.'

Ron was silent for a moment, and then he said, 'I'm coming with you.'

* * *

Although Hermione was still ill-at-ease, Snape seemed to have switched gears from insulted to Resident Teacher in no time at all. He cleared his throat, and then asked Hermione, 'Can you tell me any other potions that employ the use of human blood.'

Hermione flinched at the last two words.

'Um-several,' she said, absently. She heard Snape click his tongue impatiently, and struggled to focus. 'Well, blood can be used in Polyjuice Potion as a more motivated core. It's used in several hereditary potions, as well as-'

'No,' Snape interrupted. 'That's not what I meant. Try again. Where have you heard, from a first-hand source, of a potion containing human blood.'

Hermione quirked an eyebrow and pointed to the cauldron behind him. He shook his head.

'Nowhere else,' she said, bewildered, 'We never studied about such- Oh!'

Her words cut off and her eyes widened, a hand raising involuntarily to her mouth. Snape looked encouragingly at her. He knew from her shocked expression that she had found it.

'Yes?' he asked, a faint smile easing the corners of his mouth.

'Harry,' Hermione breathed. 'He told us. That's- that's what you're talking about, isn't it? _His_ potion?'

'You're going to have to be more clear, Miss Granger,' said Snape. Hermione had an inkling that he was enjoying himself immensely.

She cleared her throat, and tried to keep her voice steady as she answered. 'The potion that Wormtail made to bring Voldemort back to life,' she said, calmly. It was fake, forced. She noticed that Snape's face remained smooth and impassive at the mention of Voldemort's name. He didn't flinch anymore.

'Correct,' he said, nodding, and she felt a flash of pride under all her disconcertion. 'I came across that memory when I was taking Potter's Occlumency lessons, along with the tidbit about the Basilisk. Now, can you tell me anything about that potion?'

Hermione racked her brains. Truth be told, she hadn't spared much thought to that particular part of the story. But now that she thought about it, she realized that the potion had been unfamiliar, and potent, something definitely worth researching. Trust Snape to pick up on it.

'I don't think it's a potion anyone's ever used before,' she said, quietly.

Snape nodded. 'Quite right,' he said, 'It's a concoction of Voldemort's.'

'And he used it to bring transform his Horcrux into a full body again?' she asked, slowly.

Snape took a moment to collect his thoughts. His pale face drew in a little, faint lines appearing on his brow. When he spoke, his thin lips moved slowly, deliberately.

'Not exactly,' he said, 'Although the process of making a Horcrux has been detailed in several books pertaining to the Dark Arts, there are practically none on transforming a Horcrux into a full-bodied human. You see, Horcruxes were never meant to bring someone back to life. They were merely meant to tether them to this world. The scarce other people who have created Horcruxes for themselves have remained in that particular state that Lord Voldemort was in during his stay in Albania: ghosts, mere whispers of life.'

'But- but then what's the point?' Hermione asked, perplexed. 'Why would people go through such lengths to merely tether themselves to the world? Wouldn't it be simpler to just come back as ghosts?'

Snape nodded. 'It might seem that way,' he conceded, 'But you've forgotten that ghosts can only roam in areas that they've imprinted on during their lifetime. If Sir Nicholas were to leave the castle boundaries, he would cease to exist. In the Horcrux form, a spirit- if you can call it that- can roam wherever it chooses to. I rather suspect that the few people who selected Horcruxes as an option for the afterlife were rich, petty feudal lords. The sort of people who would want to stay back after they die to make sure their wives do not crawl into the beds of others, or bear illegitimate children. It is a- a surveillance medium, more than anything.'

Hermione choked down her embarrassment at the mention of wives and their lovers, and instead chose to say, disbelievingly, 'Creating a Horcrux requires _murder_. Why would someone go to such lengths just to spy on someone after they die?'

'It hasn't been employed in the last century or so- save for Lord Voldemort,' said Snape. He leaned back against the desk, his dark robes stretching against his long frame. 'But I highly doubt any feudatory would have minded killing a serf or two in the sixteenth century. Of course, most of them did not really know what they were getting themselves into. By Voldemort's admission, we know that to reside as a Horcrux entity is extremely painful. They presumably regretted it deeply after they died.'

Hermione blinked. It sounded horrible.

'How did Voldemort bring himself back to a full-bodied form?' she asked.

Snape pursed his lips slightly, and then drew them back. 'I believe the Dark Lord suspected before hand what agony residing as an entity would be. Of course, he never intended to remain like that forever. His ambition was always to be immortal, in a full sense. He was immersed in research at one point of his journey- around the time he applied for a teaching post in Hogwarts. I suspect that was when he drew up plans for his treatments, in case he should die.'

Hermione registered the time frame. She remembered Harry saying that Voldemort had looked ill and only half-human when he had come to see Dumbledore, that he had hidden a Horcrux in the castle on the way up or down. It made sense, she realized.

'What did he do?' she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. She snuck another look at the row of cauldrons.

Snape inhaled deeply. 'Nobody can say for sure,' he said, 'But one can harbor a guess. I believe he ingested plenty of Unicorn Blood to gain strength. His most fool-proof method for returning to life, of course, would be the Philosopher's Stone. But when Dumbledore had that destroyed, he reverted to his original research. He had concocted a potion, and he chose those ingredients that he believed would give him the most strength: his father's bone, his servant's flesh, and his enemy's blood. This potion took his soul, and gave him back life and his body.'

Hermione nodded. She couldn't speak.

'Essentially,' said Snape, 'What this potion does is give life. It transformed a part of him into his whole. That's what I've premised my research on.'

Hermione frowned. 'I don't understand,' she said, slowly, 'What exactly are you trying to do?'

Snape was silent for a moment. Then, he said, 'Can you tell me what magic it is we've been taught all our lives is impossible?'

Hermione shook her head, bewildered. 'Plenty of things,' she said, 'I don't understand what you-'

Her voice broke off. For the second time in ten minutes, her eyes widened. This time, her face also turned completely white, and when she spoke her voice was a deathly rasp.

'Life,' she whispered, 'You're trying to bring people back to life.'

* * *

**Author's Note: So, finally another chapter up. Sorry I took such a break from updating. I think I have the worst case of writer's block ever known to mankind.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Hope you like this chapter =D**


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